


The Hidden Kingdom

by Fairytale_du_Lac (MOMYN)



Category: Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms, Cursed (TV 2020), Cursed - Thomas Wheeler
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Arthurian, Childhood Memories, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Happily Ever After, Kings & Queens, Nimulot - Freeform, Road to atonement, TV Canon, The Weeping Monk's past comes back for him, fey magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:15:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 102,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26975731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MOMYN/pseuds/Fairytale_du_Lac
Summary: Everyone has a past, even the Weeping Monk… and it came back for him in the flames of the Fey Fire.This could be his very end... or a brand new start for him, for his Queen, for their people.One thing is certain - this is not how Lancelot imagined what his atonement could be.This is a story of Lancelot’s past, present, and the future, seen through the eyes of others.***The story picks up right after the end of season 1.All non-Cursed characters are part of the Arthurian universe and their connections to our heroes are mostly the same.I have no regrets!
Relationships: Nimue & Squirrel | Percival & The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed), Nimue & The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed), Nimue/The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed), Squirrel | Percival & The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed)
Comments: 188
Kudos: 184





	1. Sons of Ban

[ ](https://sta.sh/01g64nlb5t2g)

* * *

The day was ending quickly over Bertilak Forest. Trees were casting long shadows, the forest was filled with a pleasant mixture of a light breeze, buzzing insects, and occasional bird song. The only disruption in this otherwise serene moment was the sound of Goliath’s hoofs slowly stumping towards a small rocky ravine covered in moss and ferns – a place easily missed if one didn’t know where to look.

Lancelot wasn’t sure what to do. He was a wanted man now and nowhere was safe for him from now on… but he didn’t want Percival to get involved. He saved the boy on pure instinct when, after the confrontation with Father Carden, he saw him being dragged to Brother Salt’s tent. At that moment he knew there was no going back for him.

The kid reminded him of himself at that age. But also his mother’s words of wisdom about being kind to everyone and protective of the Fey were rattling around his mind with an intensity he couldn’t ignore any longer. Back then, a six-year-old Lancelot didn’t quite understand what being Fey meant – he hadn’t seen any real Fey in his short life, only heard about them in the stories told by his family.

Now his occupation made him do the exact opposite of what his mother believed in. The Monk pressed his fingers to the cross adornment on the front of his tunic and felt for a coin-shaped object hidden under. _I’m so sorry, mother_ , he thought mournfully as the shame of his actions almost overwhelmed him.

The horse was slowly losing strength, so were Lancelot and Percival. They were exhausted and hungry. Lancelot got badly wounded in the fight against the Trinity Guard and he was heavily leaning onto Percival as it was getting almost impossible to hold himself upright. The boy, to his credit, didn’t complain about it. He kept chattering, only stopping from time to time to check whether the man sitting behind him was still alive.

“…and then Nimue jumped down from the tree and those idiots ran away screaming their bloody heads off! We had a great laugh!” Percival giggled. Moments later he said with sadness in his voice, “You see, Nimue is the kindest person I’ve ever known…but everyone is mean to her. So when we went back to the village, people were mumbling curses and spitting at her feet.”

“Why is that?” said Lancelot. He was curious about this mysterious girl that was very close to this boy. Was she a family? From all he’d heard about this Nimue, it sounded like she was twice Percival’s age. Why didn’t she have friends her age?

“They say, when she was a child, even younger than me, she got cursed by the Dark Lord and left with his claw marks on her back, of which she is ashamed now,” said Percival.

The word _cursed_ triggered unwelcomed memories from Lancelot’s own childhood. He once had been called _cursed_ and looked down at by his own father. Maybe he and that girl were alike and for that reason, Percival warmed up so quickly to him despite everything that had happened in the past weeks.

“Many of us have marks and scars we are ashamed of,” whispered Lancelot, thinking about his scars, both physical and mental. He was doomed and destined to burn in Hell’s eternal fire – just like Father Carden said. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself for the choices he’d made, regardless of the methods used by his mentor to shape him into this ruthless killer. He didn’t deserve a second chance. “And often there is no one who would be willing to look past those scars and accept us just the way we are.”

“Nimue would!” Percival turned around in the saddle to look at Lancelot. “She would accept you…” he hesitated “…after a while that is. After all, you murdered everyone in our village.”

“I’m sorry, my boy. I …”

“Look! Somebody’s there!” the boy interrupted excitedly, the depressing conversation forgotten.

A dark-skinned woman was standing at the mouth of a narrow passage leading to the ravine, watching them from afar. She was tall, imposing, and her face had intricate marks on. A sword in her hand marked her as a warrior and it didn’t bode well for Lancelot’s lifespan.

He didn’t have much time left, he’d been feeling weaker by the hour, slowly bleeding out from the stab wounds and cuts. The broken ribs and bruises all over made breathing difficult. He started losing focus. He just wanted it to end, but before he could let go, he had to make sure Percival is taken care of.

The man felt a great surge of relief seeing a big smile, exposing sharp teeth, appeared on her face when she recognised his little companion. “Squirrel! You’re alive!” she ran towards them. Suddenly she stopped short at the sight of the man. Her features morphed, from confusion, through shock, just to settle on pure loathing. She pointed her sword at him and snarled. “The Weeping Monk himself. What an honour,” she mocked. “Move away from the boy before I gut you like the rabid beast that you are!”

“Kaze, don’t! He’s with me! He saved me from the Trinity Guard!” there was a clear panic in Percival’s voice. “Please don’t hurt Lancelot…please, Kaze.”

“Percival, it’s fine,” Lancelot whispered, feeling the darkness enclosing on him. Finally, he can stop worrying about the boy’s wellbeing – he will be well cared for from now on. “You’re safe now. My mission is accomplished,” he succumbed to his injuries and toppled off Goliath’s back and fell onto the mossy ground in a crumpled heap.

But before the blessed unconsciousness took him away, he noticed another figure running towards them. Someone he thought was lost to him forever. It couldn’t possibly be. Maybe Lancelot was already dead…

“Hector,” he whispered and then everything went black.

* * *

Squirrel couldn’t lose another person! His little body was shaking with sobs he wouldn’t let go of the man’s tunic, shaking him in an attempt to wake him up. Goliath was gently nudging the man’s head with his muzzle.

“I told you to stay put, Hector” irritated Kaze said to a young man who appeared suddenly. But he didn’t pay any attention to her. He dropped to his knees, looking in disbelief at Lancelot and slowly touched his bloodied, dirty face. His eyes filled with tears when he pressed his lips to the Monk’s forehead and whispered “Brother, what have they done to you?”

“Brother?” Squirrel was so baffled that he stopped crying. “He’s not a Brother anymore! His name is Lancelot and he saved me,” he stated with conviction, wiping the dirty tear tracks off his face with a sleeve. “But now he needs help and I promised him I would help him get better,” both Squirrel and the young man called Hector looked at Kaze.

“Can you help him?” Hector asked quietly. “He won’t last long if we just leave him like this.”

“Good,” the woman stated contemptuously. “He doesn’t deserve to live after all he has done to our people,” she paused seeing the disbelief on Hector’s face, “But you wouldn’t understand – you’re not one of us after all. You don’t know how it is to see your people being persecuted and killed just for being Fey. You don’t…”

“I may not know but he does,” Hector stood up and pointed to the man at his feet. “I may not be one of you, but my brother is!”

“What do you mean by _one of us_?” Kaze was baffled. “He has spent years slaughtering us. This monster deserves everything that’s coming for him!”

“If you knew what he had to endure, you wouldn’t be so quick to condemn him despite all that he’s done!” he said angrily.

“What _he_ had to endure?!” Kaze was staring astonished, not believing what she was hearing. “Well, let me tell you…”

“Enough! Both of you!” Squirrel felt like he might explode, “Can you focus for just _one_ second, please!” he grabbed unconscious Lancelot under his arms and tried to move him, unsuccessfully. “Please help me. We need to treat his wounds before it is too late. He was badly beaten and stabbed and we’ve been on the run for the past three days, so he’s very close to dying. Please, Kaze, I’m begging you. Lancelot is good now,” he hoped somebody would believe him.

Kaze looked at him for a long time, then sighed, “Fine. Go and tell Polly to get everything ready,” she ordered and pointed at Hector, “You, help me carry him inside before it gets dark.”

“Thank you,” said Hector quietly.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she grumbled and grabbed Lancelot’s legs. “It’s very much possible he won’t survive the night. Now, let’s go.”

Squirrel sprinted towards a stone building tucked under the tree roots, too absorbed in his task for Hector’s words to register anything going on around him. Only, when he delivered the message for Polly – the Faun healer, it stroke him. Did Hector mean that he was a monk like Lancelot? Or were they family?

But those questions would have to wait. Now, they needed to focus on the Monk, who was laid down on a fur rug by the fire. He didn’t even notice that a dozen other Fey were sitting around the fire and observing developing events with a mix of fascination, fear, and resentment towards their unconscious guest. Squirrel didn’t recognise any of them apart from Polly, whom he had met in Nemos.

While the healer was gently removing Lancelot’s clothing and cleaning the dried blood from his face and torso, Hector was taking care of cuts on Squirrel’s face. “Thank you for taking care of my brother. I’m glad he has a friend in you,” said Hector.

“Do you mean he is your real brother?” asked the boy already looking for familiarities on the young man’s face.

“He is my half-brother. Lance’s mother, took me in after my mother’s death,” Hector shrugged and continued cleaning Squirrel’s face silently.

The boy, on the other hand, had so many questions, he barely could sit still. “How old are you? How old is Lancelot? How was he as a child? Why is he a monk?” Squirrel noticed that all eyes were on Hector now. People were curious about the brothers.

“I am nineteen, he is twenty-one. I don’t remember much about the period before we had to go, but I do remember he was quiet and kind, loved spending all his time in the forest nearby the castle. He said there were fairies in a glade, just like in the tales he heard from our cousin,” Hector smiled at the memory.

Squirrel frowned, “What do you mean by before we had to go? Where did you go?”

Before Hector could answer, Polly let out a loud gasp and everybody looked at her dread-filled face. Kaze walked over to her to take a look at whatever caused that reaction. A horrifying sight of long and deep jagged open and still bleeding cuts, old and new scars covering an entirety of Lancelot’s back was enough to make even a hardened warrior like herself, cover her mouth in horror.

“I thought they would stop after he went with them,” whispered horrified Hector.

Squirrel let out a sob, then said shakily, “Why would anyone do that to another person?”

“Because they didn’t think of him as a person, but a demon – a creature from Hell, and they made him do it to himself,” said Hector, grimly looking at his brother’s back.

“A Demon?” said a voice coming from the darkened entrance. “Why was the Weeping Monk thought to be a demon?” A tall man carrying staff stepped out of the shadows and he came closer to the fire. “Tell us how such powerful Fey becomes a Fey Slayer. Let us all understand.”

Everyone gasped in shock.

* * *

“Merlin! I thought you would be dead by now, you bastard!” was the first thing Merlin heard Kaze say to him. Admittedly she didn’t hold any warm feelings towards him.

“Thought? Or hoped?” he smirked. He couldn’t take his eyes of the man laying on the ground. There was something about him. Something Merlin hadn’t seen in a long time. He looked at the man named Hector. “So?”

“I’ll tell you what I know, although there isn’t much,” said Hector. He watched Polly working on his brother’s back for a while. Merlin sat opposite him and encouraged the young man with a nod.

Hector took a deep breath. “I remember the night our father dragged him by the hair and locked him in his chamber, yelling that he brought doom upon us because he had been cursed by Fey demons. I was five years old then... I think. I stayed with my brother that night. He was so eerily quiet like he wasn’t there anymore,” he said tapping on his forehead with a finger, “Later on, Lady Elaine – Lance’s mother, woke us up and took us to a boat waiting on a seashore but wouldn’t join us. Lancelot called out to her when we saw our father approaching her from behind... I remember my brother crying and holding me in his arms, not letting look back towards the beach.

“Next morning we woke up away from the shore, surrounded by fog. That was the first time I noticed the marks under his eyes. They hadn’t been there before!

“After what seemed like hours of drifting, we reached an isle’s shore and were greeted by the most beautiful lady, wearing a dress and crown made out of glass! And she was calling Lancelot a Fire Prince for some reason,” he shrugged, frowned, and went silent for a while. “And that’s all I remember from that period. It’s like somebody turn my memory off for that time,” Hector sounded confused.

“Fire Prince?” wondered Squirrel. “That’s weird, isn’t it?”

“I suppose she wasn’t entirely wrong. Lancelot and I are princes after all,” Hector smiled.

Kaze frowned at that. “Who is your father?”

After a long pause, he said, looking at the woman fearfully as if expecting a certain reaction from her, “King Ban of Gennewis in Gallia.”

At that, Merlin fell into a pensive mood. It seemed his initial impression of the Monk might be right, or at least partially right. Merlin was onto something but he needed more details to be able to shape the ideas rattling in his head into a coherent theory.

“Wow,” Squirrel’s said in awe. “The Weeping Monk is an actual prince… wow,” he paused, then asked, frowning, “But why Fire Prince?”

“I don’t know,” said equally confused Hector and looked to Merlin for guidance.

“Are you sure that’s what this mysterious Lady called him? Could you be misremembering?” asked the sorcerer.

“It’s possible,” the young man shrugged and continued with his story. “The next thing I remember our cousins appeared on the isle. They said they'd been looking for us for five years and wanted Lancelot to return with them to face a trial for the murder of our parents! That’s how I found out they had died,” tears formed in Hector’s eyes. “I don’t know how Bors and his people found us, but they did.

“When we arrived back at the mainland, the Red Paladins were waiting for us. They beat Lancelot to a pulp. He was only twelve years old! Their leader - Father Carden, took us on the ship going to Britannia. When here, we were thrown into a dungeon in some abbey… and that’s when my brother’s hell started,” Hector let out a sob, tears flooded his cheeks. He wasn’t able to speak for a while.

Merlin put his hand on Hector’s shoulder. “You don’t have to continue now if it’s too much…”

“I have to,” said Hector pulling away from the older man, angrily wiping his eyes. “I have to or you’ll always see my brother as a heartless monster,” he glared at Kaze, who looked at the ground. ”I have to because it is all my fault,” he murmured.

“What happened to him?” Squirrel asked with a barely audible whisper.

“They broke him,” the young man said. “For the next six years, they tortured, whipped, starve him, broke his bones, all while reading the so-called holy scriptures to him. They wanted to train him on how to fight like _a man of God_ , whatever that means, but Lancelot beat them every single time! He wasn’t simply fighting – he was barely touching the ground with his feet, he was so fast and precise…I didn’t even know how that was possible. We had never been taught by anyone. That incredible skill brought him even more torture – they told him it was because he had Fey demons moving through him during the combat,” Hector’s eyes were unfocused, staring into his brother’s miserable past. “And I witnessed all of this and couldn’t do anything. I remember the day, they let him visit me in my cell. Lancelot was eighteen. He was wearing a cape but the hood was down, so I could see the wretched shaved patch with the cross-shaped wound at the back of his head,” Hector gently touched Lancelot’s head and slowly shook his head.

He continued looking into the distance. “He didn’t even embrace me. All he said was that it is to keep me safe and to keep the world safe from all the Devil’s beasts. That he could help the Men of God do it. That this was his mission from then on till the day he’d burn in Hell, as there was no salvation for him – the weeping demon. He was just standing there looking at me with quiet resignation, silently crying. Those tears were the only sign my beloved brother, my Lancelot was still in that emotionless shell. “That was the last time I saw him. It was three years ago. Since then I have been kept as leverage so he wouldn’t stray from his mission. The monks would visit me just to tell me about yet another bloodbath Lancelot took part in. It got me thinking. Maybe if I killed myself, my brother would stop the killing, because he wouldn’t have any reason to continue…But I’m a coward and…”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Squirrel was appalled. “They wouldn’t tell him you were dead, obviously, so he would never stop!”

“I’ve never thought about it,” Hector shook his head and his face crumpled with sadness. He sat quietly for a moment and then said, “I know, that he started believing in their words too. But I also know he would stop the moment he learnt that I was dead or set free. He sacrificed _everything_ for me – his body _and_ soul.

“I can only imagine the self-hatred he felt. That’s why when the monks came for me two days ago and dragged me out of their abbey, I had to find a way to escape and let Lancelot know he could stop now,” he looked at his brother. “Luckily I was helped by you, people. So was my brother,” Hector smiled at Squirrel and ruffled his hair, and then knelt in front of the little boy. “I thank you for this, Squirrel. You have my undying gratitude,” he said seriously.

“It’s Sir Percival actually,” said Squirrel, looking a bit shy about Hector’s gratitude.

“Sir Percival?” Merlin smirked and raised an eyebrow.

“I was knighted by the Green Knight himself and Lancelot told I’m not an animal so I should use my given name, and that all knights use _Sir_ ” the boy proudly puffed up his tiny chest.

“Sir Percival and prince Lancelot – what a team,” the sorcerer chuckled at the beaming boy, got up, and left the cottage.

He stood in the small clearing, enjoying the quiet night and looking at the starry sky peeking through the tree branches and smiled.

“Have you been here long? Did you hear that young man?”

“Yes, I heard everything,” Morgana appeared from behind a tree. She was covered in black from tip to toe. She was the Widow now but also a friend and confidant. She sat on a boulder and rested the Sword of Power next to her. “I can also sense the chaos swirling around in your head. What is it?”

“I have so many questions about Hector’s story. He doesn’t remember much before arriving here with Carden. Why?” Merlin was puzzled. The five-year-long memory gap didn’t seem like trauma-related memory loss. It kicked in and ended in two very precise moments in time… _Or was the young man lying?_ Merlin thought to himself.

“He wasn’t lying, Merlin. You know he wasn’t,” Morgana looked at him pointedly. “Maybe you should wait for the Monk to wake up and ask him your questions?”

“Assuming he’ll want to talk to us at all,” he worried.

“He will. He fought for Squirrel like he was his own brother. I saw it. He was ready to die in that camp. Anything to help that little boy escape. He is done with the Church,” she stated and looked into the sorcerer's eyes intensely. “Merlin, we have a chance like the Fey have never had before. With him, we can win this, the Fey will finally have a chance to achieve peace and live unbothered.”

“You’re right. I’ve never seen anyone with such a strong connection to the Hidden, even stronger than Nimue’s,” his shoulders slumped, remembering what had happened to his daughter. He would trade his soul if it would bring her back. He’d been haunted by her terrified eyes mere seconds before her hand slipped out of his and she plunged into the cold waters of the river.

“She’s not dead,” Morgana whispered, looking into the distance.

The sorcerer looked sharply at her, his nostrils flared with anger. “And you didn’t care to tell me that earlier?!” he couldn’t believe the Widow would withhold that from him. It’s been almost three days, she surely had known, given her current occupation, since then! “What on Balor’s Eye were you thinking!”

She shrugged. “You were preoccupied with the Ash man.”

“You’re impossible!” Merlin couldn’t believe how flippant she was. “You’ve been… _this_ ,” he waved his hand and up and down “for few days and you’re already so detached from this world!” he started pacing back and forth “We need to find her immediately!”

“We do and we will. But I cannot interfere,” Morgana hesitated. “I don’t have access to where she is now, I don’t know why. It’s like something is preventing me from going there,” she shook her head, stood up and grabbed the Sword, “Anyway, all I know is that she’s alive and where she possible could be.”

“That’s good enough, I suppose,” the man murmured and stopped pacing. “So, where is she?”

“Most likely with your _friend_ \- Rugen.”

Merlin threw his arms up. _Why can’t things go my way for once_! he thought. Rugen would never release Nimue if he showed up. Instead, he’d kill her out of spite. _Maybe stealing the Fey Fire hadn’t been the greatest idea after all_. He sighed. He needed a drink. 

Then, stricken by an idea, he briskly walked towards the cottage with purpose. “Ah, in this case, we’ll need the help of the son of King Ban.” 


	2. Fire Bearer

[ ](https://sta.sh/0jz2mxgq1s4)

Nimue woke up with a gasp, not able to catch a breath. She frantically looked for something that would help her to get to the surface. Phantom water was still filling her lungs. However, there was nothing phantom about the pain in her shoulder and chest. It took her a while to calm down enough to assess the situation. The arrows were gone and the wounds were patched up. Who did this? Where was she? And more importantly, how come she was still alive?

Memories of the past few days started coming back to her. The meeting with King Uther, Gawain’s lifeless body laid down at her feet, Morgana’s new form, Carden’s head rolling on the ground, desperate escape with wounded Merlin, Sister Iris’s arrows piercing her body. And finally, the fall, the overwhelming cold darkness, the whispers, hands reaching for her, and blessed nothingness. 

When the fog obscuring her mind lifted, she stood up and took in her surroundings. She was in a cold cavern with a ceiling as high as a Christian cathedral. Gold, jewels and other riches were scattered all around her in chests and piles on the ground. They were even in eye sockets of richly clothed bodies placed in open coffins. Nimue couldn’t help the shuddering and turn around to move away but a sudden pull at her let made her look down. A chain was wrapped around her ankle and tied to a stone archway where mummified remains of a red-headed woman were posed as if she was just standing up, guarding weird green fire rising from a stone pit in front of her.

The fire was mesmerisingly beautiful, she couldn’t take her eyes off it. There was something in the flames she was drawn to. She wanted to step into the fire and get surrounded by its welcoming warmth. It felt right. It felt like she’d been waiting for it her entire life and finally it was within her grasp.

It felt like home.

* * *

In the final moments before waking up, Lancelot was basking in the warm and peaceful feeling that soothed his tarnished soul, despite the numbing pain reigning over his battered body. It wouldn’t last and would disappear the moment he opened his eyes. It might as well be the last time he’d ever get to feel this way. So his eyes stayed closed, his mind was pleasantly drowsy.

Until he heard a voice that reminded him of the events that made him abandon what he thought to be his destiny.

“Lancelot, come on! You’ve been out of it for days now. That’s enough! Are you going to get up or keep pretending you’re asleep and just lay here like a heap of horse shite in the middle of a road?” Percival was tugging at his leggings impatiently.

Lancelot opened one eye. “That’s a tempting and definitely not an unwelcomed idea,” his voice was hoarse from thirst and disuse.

“Well, though. You better get up, you lazy oaf,” the boy’s harsh words were negated by a shy grin. The man smiled to himself and tried to sit up but the pain in his body rendered him weak.

A pair of hands helped him up from behind, “Careful, you’re were mangled pretty badly,” the same woman that had _greeted_ them sat in front of him. Kaze, was it? She looked at him with a serious face. Her expression was so different from what he remembered from their first encounter. “You’re lucky you managed to get as far as you did. You scared Squirrel to death. He hasn’t left your side for three days and nights. Wouldn’t go to sleep in case I decided to murder you,” she shook her head. “I don’t know what you did to that child, but I’ve never seen anyone so fiercely protective. He even threatened me with gouging my eyes out if I didn’t let him and Hector stay by your side and…”

“Hector?” amusement on Lancelot’s face vanished at once. He could not believe what he was hearing. He thought he was simply delirious in moments before his death. He rose on shaky legs but had to lean against a wall, feeling dizzy. “Where is he?” he whispered.

He heard excited voices outside and turn around just to face a tall, skinny young man, almost a stranger. Lancelot dropped to his knees, Hector ran to him and the brothers embraced. Both wept over the lost years. Both wept that they found each other at last. Everyone else was sitting around them in complete silence.

After a while, the older of the brothers gently rested his forehead against Hector’s and whispered “All those years, the only thought that kept me from going insane was that you would stay alive somewhere out there,” he pulled away a bit and smirked. “Judging by the state of you, you barely managed. Tell me, did they feed you at all?”

“Sometimes,” Hector smiled and the men both chuckled. They laughed because they knew if they didn’t, they would have to surrender to sorrow. And at that moment, they refused the past to spoil their present happiness and their future.

That was Lancelot’s second chance at life, however short it might turn out to be. He pledged there and then he would spend the rest of his days ensuring the safety of his brother. _His brothers_. He corrected himself, his eyes searching for Percival, who was standing next to a tall man, whose gaze was intently set on the Monk. It was unsettling, but it made him curious at the same time.

They exchanged long looks, Lancelot wasn’t going to give in first – he was known for his persistence after all. In the end, it was the stranger who smirked approvingly and said “Welcome to Bertilak Sanctuary, Lancelot – son of Ban, the Weeping Monk… the Fire Prince,” his smile was very knowing. Although what exactly the weird man knew, Lancelot had no clue. Could he trust him? Something was telling him that he would rely on that man’s knowledge and wisdom in the future.

“Who are you?” Lancelot asked.

“I’m a man whose daughter you’ve been trying to hunt like a wild animal,” said the man staring.

“Daughter? What are you talking about, Merlin?” Percival interjected.

“Here goes my dramatic entrance,” murmured Merlin and rolled his eyes.

“Merlin? Merlin, the Sorcerer? Merlin, the Magic Jester of Uther Pendragon?” Lancelot mocked.

“No, _my child_ ,” the sorcerer smiled sardonically. “Merlin, the father of the Wolf-Blood Witch.”

“Wow,” whispered Percival, gaping at the sorcerer. “You’re Nimue’s father…”

The Monk didn’t know what to say to that, he just stared in disbelief. “The Wolf-Blood Witch?” he said eventually. “Nimue? The Wolf-Blood Witch is the girl from your stories, Percival?” he couldn’t quite reconcile the murderous demon with the lonely, kind girl he had heard so much about.

Percival just nodded, still staring fearfully at Merlin.

“Yes, the very witch you’ll help me to find. The very witch you’ll protect with your life,” said Merlin looking straight into the Monk’s eyes.

“Why?” the younger man returned the gaze with equal gravity.

“Because you’re the only one that can,” the sorcerer’s voice shook a little. “Because you’re the Fire Bearer.”

None of that seemed true. Something was off here. But then again, Lancelot’s life had been condensed to the Holy Books, sermons and blood, so what did he know about some ancient myths and mysticism? However, he’d heard _Fire Bearer_ before. It meant something. But that meaning was hidden from him.

He needed to put his musings aside for later. There was simply too much going on for his battered mind and body to be able to process all that information right now. But why would Merlin even want to trust him with his the Witch’s life? Why him? What had he done to earn all that?

Merlin stepped in closer. “I have a reason to believe that the Sword of Power found the worthy one. And I believe _you_ are the one, Lancelot.”

Lancelot gave the sorcerer a suspicious look. “Nah, you’re lying. You’re up to something, magician. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had been plotting with King Uther and now you’re playing a concerned father, just to get me to get you that damned sword,” he started limping slowly around the firepit. _Because who in a right mind would ever think of some nameless assassin, the Church’s attack dog, a traitor to his people, worthy of that weapon?_ _No one_. This thought made Lancelot hang his head down in shame and self-loathing.

“Oh, but I already have the sword, my boy,” Merlin smiled, seeing all heads turning towards him. He also started strolling around the fire. “Also, I’m not sure who you are trying to convince of your unworthiness, but the Sword doesn’t care about the deeds committed by the flesh in the physical world – it cares about the traits of the soul and the character. And that, young man, should be enough for any human, Fey and anything between, because Excalibur chose you,” the sorcerer finished decisively. Was the sorcerer capable of mind-reading?

Merlin nodded at someone not visible to others, and suddenly a figure donned in black appeared for thin air and removed a veil covering a woman’s face. She was equally terrifying and fascinating. Also, she looked familiar… He looked around at the people surrounding the firepit. Nobody but him and Merlin seemed to see the woman.

She smiled. “We will talk one day, Monk. Long before your time to die comes. But we will. For now, here, hold it and prepare as the Sword of Power will test you,” the sword appeared in her hands.

Confused Lancelot looked at Merlin, the man nodded. Before he could utter a word, the sword was placed in his hands and the woman was gone as unexpectedly as he had appeared.

“How did you get it, Lancelot?” Percival’s eyes widened at the sight of the weapon.

“Magic, what else, Squirrel?” Merlin was clearly amused by the boy’s reaction.

“Percival,” the boy and Lancelot said at the same time. They looked at each other and smiled.

“My apologies, Sir _Percival_ ,” the sorcerer bowed his head in acknowledgment. 

Lancelot looked at the blade from all angles, tried the weight of it in his hand, gave it a few small swirls. “Now what? Is that it? Does it mean I’m your precious Bearer now?” he mocked.

“No, we are not done yet. The sword itself responds to the Hidden’s command,?" _Or is it the other way around?_ Merlin mused, "But you need the Fey Fire for the sword to reveal its ruling,” Merlin started tugging at the flask at his belt.

“Aaand you need a drink before it happens, old man?” Percival was his usual self.

“Careful, you little snot, your impertinence will lead you into trouble one day,” Merlin got in the boy’s face and grabbed him by the collar of his jacket.

“It is you who should be careful, magician,” Lancelot said quietly, putting the sword’s blade against the older man’s neck. “Don’t ever threaten this boy or I’ll make sure you’ll be in trouble like you’ve never been in before,” he growled.

“Fair enough,” the sorcerer let go of Percival's collar, stepped away. There was something resembling respect in his eyes, in his benign smile. The final tug, and the flask was detached. “Now we are ready. Let’s begin,” there was an excitement in the man’s voice. “Hold the sword, pointing the blade forward,” he instructed.

Lancelot did as told and pointed the sword flatly towards Merlin, who opened the flask and a green flame rose from it. A deafening silence filled the cottage. Everybody was hypnotised by the fire that nobody had ever seen in their life.

“It is Fey Fire. The Hidden may be the power behind you, people. But Fey Fire is your protection and as long as it exists, the Fey and their magic will exist. The moment it is extinguished, all Fey will lose whatever connection to the Hidden they have,” the sorcerer’s words were solemn and carried the ancient wisdom of a man who had seen a lot in his very long life. He touched the flame to the blade, stepped back and waited.

After mere seconds, the flames ran up the blade of the sword and the runes engraved in it started glowing. For a long time, Lancelot couldn’t move in any way. All he could do was to look into the flames, enchanted by the whispers coming from it.

It felt right. It felt like he’d been waiting for it all his life and finally, it was within his grasp.

It felt like home.

* * *

Merlin had seen many mystical and wonderful things in his life, but never this. Never the moment when the Fey Fire found its bearer.

The green flames flared from the blade and started surrounding the Monk. As they were climbing up his arms, the ash markings on his face started glowing like embers under his skin. His unseeing blue eyes were looking intently into the flames. Finally, the flames reach the top of Lancelot’s head and a fiery green crown appeared above.

It was a truly transcendent moment in the lives of all gathered in the cottage.

There was no doubt. The wait was over. The Fey Fire could return home.

* * *

As Nimue was staring into the green flame, images started appearing in quick succession: a crying newborn, a tree on fire, a naked man kneeling, a sword with a blade made of green flames in his hands, decade-old scars and fresh angry red slashes on a man’s back, ships amongst angry waves, a gathering of thousands, a sword at the bottom of a lake, and finally…a pair of sky-blue eyes looking right at her, reaching her soul, ashen tears on the lean cheeks…

She came back to reality with a gasp. Her heart stuttered, her breath hitched.

It was him, the Weeping Monk. Did it mean he found her? Why were his eyes so haunted? Why didn’t she feel any fear, but bone-deep longing then? For what?

Nimue looked around again for a way out. She tried to call out to the Hidden, but only silence answered her. She must get out and find her people. She refused to become yet another morbid skeletal ornament in this gold-crusted tomb.

What if the Monk would come after her?

What if he wouldn't?

* * *

As Lancelot was staring into the green flame, images started appearing in quick succession: a crying newborn, a tree on fire, a naked woman lying in a cocoon made of vines, glowing runes engraved in a sword in her hands, silver scars on her back, ships amongst angry waves, a gathering of thousands, a sword at the bottom of a lake, and finally…a pair of indigo-blue eyes looking right at him, reaching his soul, green vine markings on the delicate cheeks…

He came to quietly on the outside, but internally his heart was pounding, he felt tense and anxious.

“It was her, the Witch,” He whispered to no one in particular. “Chained next to a red-headed demon in a stone chamber glittering with jewels. She needs help, but she doesn’t want it from me,” he looked at Merlin suspiciously. “Is that why you made me hold this weapon? So I’d have a vision and run to your daughter’s rescue?”

“No,” the sorcerer said simply. “But I know where that place is.”

“Lancelot, the sword was on fire!” interjected excitedly Percival. “And then…and then your face marking started glowing! And…and then the crown made of green flames was hovering above your head! This was amazing!” The boy looked at him cheekily, “…for a dolt like you, that is.”

At that moment all the anxiety left Lancelot’s body and he started laughing. “My boy, you’re getting soft on me - you need to up your insult game,” he said amused and then looked at his brother and noticed sadness etched on his face. “Hector, what is it?”

“Last time I heard you laughing, we were children,” he said quietly. “I missed it, that’s all.” Suddenly he straightened up and looked at his older brother in wonder, “The night we left on the boat and your markings appeared, they were glowing too!”

Lancelot walked up to him, limping, and threw his arm around Hector’s skinny shoulders. “I promise to laugh more if you promise you’ll eat more,” he winked. “As for the markings,” he sighed. “I don’t think it’s relevant anymore and you should not bother yourself with this. It’s in the past. Trying to remember will only bring you more pain, my brother.”

“Why should you carry that pain on your own then?” Hector said bitterly.

“Because that’s what I deserve.” Lancelot turned around, his shoulders dropping. “This is _my_ burden, _my_ punishment.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” quietly said Kaze. “You are given a chance to atone for your deeds,” the Monk looked at her in confusion. She pointed at the sword still in his hand. “You were chosen to lead us. Be a leader then! Bring the conflict to its end and find the Fey new home where we can live in peace,” she continued passionately. “You have taken so many lives. Now, you can save ten times as many, _Lancelot_. Be what the sword wants you to be. What say you?” she looked into his eyes, previous hate replaced with a glimmer of hope. Others gathered closer. His brothers and the sorcerer awaiting his response.

“No. I am no leader. I don’t want to be. The sword was wrong somehow,” he stated seriously, looking at the surrounding faces. “But the least I can do is to join you in your cause and try to help. I will stay and fight for you as long as you need me, but then, I’m going my way,” he finished quietly, wondering what his way was. He was a broken man, _turned inside-out_ as per the Green Knight’s words. He didn’t know anything about life or indeed the world. But the decision he made was a right one, the whispers of the Hidden assured him of that.

He was pulled out of his contemplation by the sound of the people cheering. They were genuinely happy to welcome their lost brother back. They were genuinely hopeful for the future.

Lancelot looked at Merlin, who was standing quietly in a corner, looking at them in reverie. If the Monk didn’t know better, he would have to think there were tears in the sorcerer’s eyes.

The younger man sighed and said, “Shall we go and find the witch, then?”

Merlin smiled.


	3. The Witch, the Monk and the Fire

[ ](https://sta.sh/01tg0e50ym4q)

The first thing she noticed before fully awakening was the foul stench of old sweat and rotten flesh. The next thing, she wasn’t alone in the cavern anymore. She opened her eyes just to see a repulsive face of a man with a jewel instead of an eyeball.

“Who are you?” demanded Nimue, “Where am I?”

“Ah, so impatient, so beautiful,” he grabbed her chin and lift it to take a good look. “Perfect, just perfect,” he cooed.

She pulled her face out of the man’s grasp. “Who are you?” she didn’t want the man to know how scared she was. She pulled at the chain and looked around for anything that could be used as a weapon.

“Your future, my queen,” he said, standing up from his crouched position. “I’m Rugen – the king of Lepers. And you are my bride,” he chuckled.

A wave of nausea came suddenly and Nimue vomited on the stone floor, next to the man’s feet. She wiped her mouth with a hand. “You must be joking! You’re mad!” she was bemused, “Why would you kidnap a random woman for that? Can’t kings pick and choose from women to be their wives or is there a reason none would want you?” she mocked to cover her fear.

He walked up to her, grabbed her hair, and pulled her face close to his. “You better be careful, Sky witch. You’ll do as I say and we’ll live happily ever after,” he let go and moved close to the grim remains of the woman chained to the arch. He lovingly touched the skeletal face, “I need you. Boudicca needs you,” he said without looking at Nimue.

“Boudicca?” she heard that name in old legends, in stories told by travelling bards. Was that the warrior queen from ages ago? “What do I have to do with her?” she was really confused now.

“You will be a vessel for her spirit!” Rugen was so excited he was nearly frothing from his mouth. “Once she’s back, we will rule Britannia together.”

“You’re insane,” whispered Nimue, then she stood up and growled at the king “I am a vessel for no one but myself! Over my dead body, you freak!”

She didn’t expect the slap in the face to knock her back down. It was more surprising than painful, nevertheless, it drew some blood from her lips.

“It can be arranged, girl!” the man was getting impatient. “Tell me, who is Merlin to you?” he changed the subject, snickering. “Are you his little whore? He was in such despair when you fell off that bridge. Who knew that bastard had any feelings?” Rugen laughed loudly.

Nimue raised her eyebrows. He had seen the confrontation with Iris. That meant he might know what happened to her father! “Did you see what happen to him after?”

“The old fool and a woman in black just disappeared into thin air… poof! And there were gone,” he waved his hand dismissively, then smiled wolfishly. “That’s the second reason for you being here, my dove. You are a bait,” he rubbed his hand in delight. “I need him to come for you so I can take the Sword of Power back and kill him for stealing what’s mine!” Rugen started strolling around the fire pit. “And then Boudicca can be restored to her rightful throne of Britannia! With me at her side, of course. So you see, my child, we need to wait for that thief - Merlin,” he clenched his fists and spat on the ground.

It took a while before Rugen was calm enough to say, “It will take him a while to figure out where you possibly can be, of course. That means we have plenty of time to get to know each other,” he said lightly. “But now, regrettably, I must leave you as I have a very important meeting with that little weasel - King Uther, to attend to. I’ll see you within a fortnight, my dear,” he grabbed her jaw and placed a fatherly kiss on her forehead. “Behave or my people will show you what happens to bad little girls,” he giggled walking towards the exit.

Nimue sat there waiting for the door to be locked and then burst into tears quietly. She was allowed to pity herself from time to time! Anger came soon after the tears.

No. She won’t let anyone decide her fate. She needs to free herself. She needs to find Squirrel and her father. She needs to make sure the Fey will find a safe home.

* * *

Lancelot mounted Goliath with a grunt, checked his weapons – the borrowed Sword of Power and a short sword resembling the one he had lost in the fight against the Trinity Guard. His wounds were healing surprisingly fast thanks to the Fey remedies and his own input into the healing process. However the pain was ever-present and it limited his movement. That could be a problem if they were to fight. His hood was back on – he didn’t feel confident showing his bare face to the world yet. The whispers in his head were now humming contently. He felt…good. He felt calm. 

He looked back at the cottage, where he’d spent the last three nights. Hector and others were waiting for their departure. Lancelot waved to his brother and they both nodded as a promise to see each other soon. Kaze and Merlin were already on their horses, awaiting him at the mouth of the little mossy hideout. They were looking at him expectantly. He wasn’t sure why.

Then he heard from below, “I can’t believe you’re going to leave me here when you promised you wouldn’t do that,” there were fear and childish anger in Percival’s voice. He sniffled and looked at his feet. Lancelot looked down towards the boy and watched him for a while. He couldn’t believe how fond he’d grown of him in such a short time. His heart constricted at the thought of leaving that young Fey behind.

His hand shot down towards the child in an inviting gesture when he said, “I wouldn’t even dream of travelling without my faithful knight - Sir Percival.”

He smiled seeing the little face to look up, eyes wide and glassy, pure disbelief replace suddenly with joy. Percival grabbed the hand and Lancelot helped him up on the horse, placing the boy in front of him.

“Well, what are you waiting for?! Let’s go get Nimue!” exclaimed the youngest knight in Britannia.

* * *

This wasn’t what Squirrel had always imagined _the great adventure_ would be. This was six days of boredom, sleeping on hard ground, and being shushed by the adults. Except for Lancelot. Lancelot let him chatter all he wanted. Six days though! And he had no clue how much more because Merlin refused to say. It could be weeks before they get to Nimue. She could be dead by then! He was travelling with, probably, the mightiest lot of people in the whole world and they hadn’t even met anyone they could fight. Not even one ugly Red Paladin, not even one…

“We are here,” said the sorcerer. Percival’s ears perked up and he looked around.

The landscape was rocky and bare. There were no points of reference – everything looked the same. Grim. No trees, no animals, no castles. What kind of king doesn’t have at least one?

Merlin, as if reading his mind, said, “The lepers live in the caves inside that mountain,” the man nodded towards the rock formation in front of them. “Their homes are cut into the rock. We need to be very careful because they know how to camouflage. Be vigilant, young one,” he warned and then added, “And be quiet, for once.”

The boy pouted. “When have I…”

“Percival,” Lancelot interjected. “It’s not the time for bickering. Let’s go over the plan and save your beloved Nimue.”

Everyone dismounted their horses in a small valley hidden from the road and the mountain where the lepers lived. Kaze was checking her weapons, the Monk detached his bow from the saddle and was checking the arrows, Merlin was scanning the surroundings for the best way to get to Rugen’s lair unnoticed.

“She’s not my _beloved_ ,” Percival said after a while. “But she can be yours, Lancelot,” he ended cheekily.

Lancelot nearly tripped and fell on his face, when he turned around to look at him, cape tangling between his legs. “Excuse me?!”

That was the very first time the boy saw the Monk blush. His face looked more like uncle Kipp’s after drinking two bottles of wine while sitting by the fire.

Merlin was openly cackling. Kaze snorted loudly and turned around but her shoulders were visibly shaking with laughter.

“Why not? I’m telling you. You will like her. You two are very much alike,” the boy continued innocently. “And on top of that, she is really pretty,” he tempted.

“I may like her all I want but she’ll probably try to cut my head off the moment she sees me,” the Monk was still blushing. “Now quit messing and help us get ready,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, let’s get _beloved_ Nimue,” Percival mocked with a sly smile, walked past Lancelot to join Kaze and Merlin who was already heading towards the caves.

* * *

Lancelot still felt the warmth of the blush on his face when he caught up with the rest of the group. Percival’s words weren’t something he would ever expect to hear in his lifetime. He was a monk, after all, and had never spent even a second of his entertaining any thoughts of a romantic nature. Fine, maybe he wasn't a monk in the word's full meaning - he's never been ordained. Father Carden told him it would be the greatest sin and sacrilege to allow a Fey abomination to join the Holy order or to be blessed with the Christian sacraments. But the Monk definitely followed the monk's path and teachings.

The boy’s words kept rattling in his mind, _You two are very much alike_. He very much doubted that she would appreciate being compared to someone like him. He would never…

“Lancelot, focus!” Kaze snapped at him. He felt the heat coming back to his cheeks. She still looked amused, although her tone was serious. “You will follow Merlin since he knows where exactly the reliquary is. I will guard the entrance to the tunnel, Squirrel will…”

“Percival,” said the boy and Lancelot together.

Kaze gave them an exasperated look, “Fine… Percival will climb atop the rafters in the main hall and be our lookout. In and out. Simple.”

 _I hope_ , Lancelot finished in his mind.

They sneaked in without any problems, which was unusual. Merlin said those caves were usually crawling with the lepers. Not this time. The cavern they were looking for wasn’t too far into the mountain. It took a good swing of a sword to open the solid timber door's lock. And nothing happened. Nobody attacked them. Lancelot shrugged and stepped into the reliquary, immediately awestruck by all the treasure. He looked back searching for Merlin but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. _Great_.

He could sense the witch very clearly. She was here. Suddenly he heard the sound of a chain being dragged on the ground and looked towards a stone altar-like platform. The centre was ablaze with green fire, behind – the morbid remains of a redheaded woman he saw in the vision.

The chain clanked again. Lancelot looked to the side and saw a fragment of blue fabric. The scent was overwhelming now - an intoxicating mixture of morning dew, tree bark, and jasmine. It made him feel almost drunk. He stumbled to the spot where the young woman was laying down, asleep or unconscious – he didn’t know, and carefully touched her neck to check for a pulse, just in case.

“Do not touch me,” he heard. She sounded weak and exhausted.

“I’m here to rescue you,” his voice was placating. “Can you sit up?”

She did so with his help, her messy hair covering her face. He gently brushed them away. Percival said she was pretty but he wasn’t prepared for how pretty, even in this state: disheveled and covered in dirt. He couldn’t stop staring into her huge indigo eyes. Their faces were close enough he could see the reflection of the green flames dancing around in her irises.

She was staring back. Her expression was soft and trusting. Suddenly he just wanted to stay like that forever. She was looking at him as if he was the one she was waiting for.

That lasted for about five heartbeats, after which her gaze slid over to his markings, then to his hood, and that lovely expression was replaced with terror.

“You,” she whispered, still staring, paralyzed with fear.

“Not now,” he said quietly. “Let’s get you out of here first,” he reached for the chain and took out his short sword. She flinched at that, her eyes widened, she stopped breathing, waiting for the blow. “I will not hurt you,” he assured her, prying a chain-link open and freeing her.

He expected her to try to flee him. Luckily Merlin and the rest were nearby so they could meet and assure her of his friendly intentions.

What he didn’t expect was her jumping onto her feet and kicking him in the face and then just storming out of the cavern.

* * *

Her groggy mind registered someone’s presence. It wasn’t the Leper King because the smell was pleasant – warm leather, campfire, and musk. She wanted to bask in this scent and when she sat up she got lost in the gentle cobalt-blue eyes of her saviour. It took her a moment to realise with horror who she was looking at.

The Weeping Monk. Her mind was racing. Did he come here to take her back to the Paladins? Or would he just kill her when he finds out she didn’t have the Sword?

She didn’t stand the slightest chance in a fight against him. She had to be quick. The moment he released her from the chain, she leapt up and kicked him in the face. He looked more surprised than hurt. She tried to keep her dignity so she marched out with her head high.

The moment she left the cavern, she walked straight into a man’s chest.

“Merlin!” he was the last person she expected here for some reason. She grabbed him by the hand and tried to drag him away from her prison, away from the Monk. “We need to run! The Weeping Monk is here!”

“I know, my dear,” her father said calmly like he wasn’t about to be killed by that murderous hooded beast. He took her both hands in his. “We came here together,” he smiled and looked her over. “Are you hurt, Nimue? Please tell me that bastard didn’t hurt you,” he fretted.

“Who? The Monk?”

“No, Rugen,” her father rolled his eyes. “Lancelot wouldn't let anything happen to you, my child.”

“Who’s Lancelot?” she was confused - hunger and exhaustion didn’t let her think straight.

Merlin smiled, then looked over her shoulder and nodded. “Thank you, Lancelot. Now we need to get out of here, children,” he said and turned around to leave.

Nimue watched the hooded man walking towards her, holding his jaw. His eyes didn’t leave hers. That was it. Now she would die.

But he walked past her, turned his head slightly, and murmured, “Nice kick, Witch.”

She was left standing there, astonished, mouth moving wordlessly, staring at the man’s back. How dared he just walk away like that! He wasn’t going to leave her there, was he? He wouldn’t dare!

“Nimue!” she heard her father’s voice in the distance. “We don’t have time. Hurry!” That prompted her into action. She walked quickly, wanting to leave this unsettling place behind at once.

A sound of tumbling pebbles came from behind. She didn’t even want to know what that was. She started running.

And then all hell broke loose.

The moment she entered a large central cave, dozens of creatures spilled out of the narrow tunnel she just had exited. They were crawling all over the walls, rafters, and the floor.

She noticed her father at the main exit and ran towards him. Suddenly she felt a hand grip on her dress. She turned around to try to fight off the attacker but before she managed to do anything, the Monk appeared from out of nowhere and cut the hand of.

“Run!” was all he yelled at her and turned back to face the Lepers.

She obeyed and ran, noticing a movement to her right and looked up towards the rafters. Squirrel!

The boy was trying to get down quickly, avoiding the attacking creatures. One got a hold of him but it was killed by a dagger thrown by… Kaze?

The woman helped the child to get down and they made it to the exit. Kaze pushed Squirrel into Merlin’s arms and ran back inside the cave.

 _What is going on?_ She thought but didn’t have time to ponder. When she reached the exit she looked back.

The Monk with his short sword in the hand, surrounded by the swarming lepers, was ready for the confrontation. When the Lepers got within his reach, he whipped out another sword – the Sword of Power! The blade of the sword immediately burst into green flame and what came next could be described only as hypnotising.

The man fought with such grace and viciousness, one could only admire this fiery dance. The blade was just a green streak in the otherwise monochrome cave. Blood and body parts were flying everywhere, burning in the green fire. He was jumping, flipping, twirling. Kaze joined him and now they were fighting back to back.

Nimue couldn’t take her eyes off them until she felt Merlin's hand pulling her further out.

“Daughter, come on! They’ll be fine. We need to get to the horses,” he hasted her.

Only when they were far away enough to stop running, Nimue remembered she hadn’t even greet Squirrel. She knelt in front of him, cupped his tiny face in her hands, then embraced him a fierce hug. “Squirrel, I’m so happy to see you!” tears filled her eyes.

“I’m happy to see you too, Nimue,” he returned the hug with equal enthusiasm. After a moment he pulled away and exclaimed. “But did you see Lancelot there?! He’s amazing! How does he even do that? Merlin, could he be using magic to fight like that? I wish I could fight like that,” the boy said wistfully, the excitement of seeing Nimue forgotten.

Nimue rolled her eyes and looked expectantly at Merlin as they kept walking to where they left the horses. “Will I get any explanation on how come the Weeping Monk is going on adventures with you and you all seem to be perfectly happy about it?”

“Soon, my child, soon. First, let‘s leave this place, set a camp, feed you, and check on your wounds,” he looked worried.

She put her hand on his shoulder and said, “I’m fine, I promised. Whatever they used on my wounds, it worked miraculously fast. I just need some food…and maybe a bath.”

“Yeah, you do. You smell really bad,” Squirrel said with the innocent child’s honesty, scrunching his nose. Nimue laughed happily.

When they were by their horses, the sorcerer mounted his white horse. Nimue eyed the black one, clearly belonging to the Monk, and moved towards it.

“That’s Goliath. He belongs to Lancelot,” the boy stated. “I’m not sure if he will be happy about you riding his horse,” he warned.

“Well, your precious Monk can walk, because I’m not going to,” the young woman stated stubbornly just as Kaze and the Monk in question appeared in their hideout.

Both were covered in blood. Kaze was grinning. The Monk was not… He was looking straight at Nimue atop of his horse.

Kaze raised her eyebrows and exchanged looks with Merlin, mounted her brown horse together with Squirrel, and waited for further development.

Nimue lifted her chin, looking daringly the Monk in the eyes. “It looks like you’re walking, Monk.”

He tilted his head to the side, regarded her with narrowed eyes. “I don’t think so, Witch,” and climbed onto the horse quickly behind her, and grabbed the reins in both hands. She was so shocked, she didn’t even protest.

They left the wretched place behind. She could hear Kaze and Merlin giggling behind like children. She was trapped in between his arms and his thighs like she was trapped in his scent and eyes before. The Hidden’s whispered were weirdly soothing. She felt a shiver running through her body.

The Monk misunderstood the reason behind her shivering, because he tightened his grip around her, leaned into her, and whispered right into her ear, “Don’t be afraid of me, Nimue.”

Oh, she was.


	4. Poisoned Arrow

[ ](https://sta.sh/0fv77l4b5lt)

The return journey to the Bertilak Sanctuary seemed to be as uneventful as the way to the Lepers’ Kingdom. To Percival’s dismay. Lancelot, on the other hand, enjoyed that rather slow pace. He was walking for most of the time, letting others ride atop Goliath. He enjoyed the crunching sound of the forest flora under his feet and how the lush green forest, birds’ chirping, and light breeze were making him feel calm and contemplative. He had time to sort out his thoughts and feelings, which were a complete jumbled mess at that point.

Even Percival got calmer…or at least less talkative.

Asher had spent over four days being mocked, frowned at, and scolded for anything and everything. Everything was his fault and he could do nothing right. Nimue wasn’t trying to have a conversation or ask questions. _Like_ the one about him having _her_ sword or why he was there in the first place. She had no interest. And it wasn’t even about not wanting to talk _to_ him but _about_ him. Her initial need to know about his motives was gone. Even Merlin looked surprised by that.

He wasn’t sure whether the witch… _Nimue_ , he corrected himself - he had to adapt to the new situation… was trying to provoke him or was just as confused and a bit scared as he was. Because that weird need to be around her or tease her just to see her eyes turning towards him was stronger than his usual self-preservation instinct. It didn’t help that sometimes he caught her stealing glances at him when she thought he wouldn’t notice.

He did.

And it was terrifying. This was completely new territory for him as a human being, as a monk, as a man. He considered asking Merlin for advice once or twice, but whenever he turned to the sorcerer, that arrogant fool had that content smirk on his face. So that was out of the question.

He briefly thought of talking to Kaze but she gave him a knowing look and shook her head in refusal. Her amused smile was clearly saying, _you’re on your own with this one_.

How does one make friends? Or maybe it’s just not possible for him? Lancelot didn’t want to have an enemy in Nimue but he had no clue how to even approach the woman. He was responsible for her losing her home, family, and friends after all. He had hunted her like she was some kind of a beast. But she wasn’t. She was a scared young woman, ostracised by her own people and despite that, trying to protect everyone. He should be on his knees begging for her forgiveness.

No. He didn’t deserve to be forgiven. He couldn't erase the past. But he could build a better future. Maybe one where Nimue would look at him like she had in the first moment when they had met for the first time.

 _You’re an idiot,_ he could easily imagine his inner voice rolling its eyes.

The camp was set up not far from a small waterfall, by a group of fallen trees that would make a good shelter from the night chill.

It had been Kaze’s turn to walk, so Lancelot was riding her horse, cradling sleeping Percival in his arms, when they arrived at the campsite. He tried not to wake the child up when dismounting the horse and let him sleep for a while longer. Unsuccessfully. That little gremlin was so full of energy from the get-go that it was quickly agreed that Lancelot would take the boy hunting after he started a fire, while Kaze and Nimue would go to the waterfall to bathe. That was met with a great sigh of relief on the witch’s part as she’d been complaining about the odour of which she was the source. Merlin disappeared in the foliage immediately, not interested in helping around.

Percival turned out to be a skilled hunter and they managed to kill four rabbits and find some edible fruit in relatively little time. When they were on the way back, they came across Kaze, also returning to the camp. Lancelot wanted to wash off the lingering smell of the Fey medicine as well as the days-old sweat and grime. And his undershirt could use some washing too. Percival wasn’t interested so he went with Kaze. 

He was looking forward to the soothing effect the water would have on his battered body. He quickly removed his clothing, leapt into the water, and scrubbed vigorously every inch of the skin. After washing himself and his shirt, he spent a few moments taking in the beautiful setting - the silver surface of the pond, the glittering water of the waterfall, the moonlit sky above the little clearing.

The water was waist-deep where he was standing so he turned towards the waterfall, attempting to find a deeper spot. The sound of a sharp inhale made him swirl around and scan the area. And there she was. Hiding behind a partially submerged boulder, trembling from cold. Naked. Her eyes were huge and shining, her lips parted. She was staring. At him. Naked.

Basic decency required of him to turn around, let her get to the pond’s edge, get dressed, and leave. But he didn’t move and he didn’t turn around. They just stood there, God knew for how long, staring at each other. Speechless. Enchanted. And naked.

Eventually, she broke the spell with a hearty sneeze. She frowned at him, then lifted her chin defiantly, saying. “Would you mind?”

“I don’t mind at all,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse. He was still staring at her intensely, doing his best not to let his eyes travel below her face.

So was she.

“Well…?” she looked flustered.

“Well…what?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

Her jaw dropped in disbelief for a moment, then she pressed her full lips together, gave him a hard look, and ostensibly walked toward the shore, not dropping her eyes from his even for a second. He could only admire her bravado. He smirked.

And then it was the turn to gape. Because she emerged from the pond and stood at the edge, her naked body glistened in the moonlight as if she was a water nymph. She was still looking at him. Smirking.

She wrung her hair very slowly, allowing time for his eyes to linger on her curves, her porcelain skin, her full breasts, the dark hair intimately concealing what was below her belly. Before his eyes got sated on the captivating view, she was putting her undershirt on. And then it was over. She left.

Lancelot felt all the blood in his body was rushing to meet in one, very specific place.

That was when the Weeping Monk learnt what physical lust was.

* * *

She couldn’t believe what she had just done. She would never be able to look the Monk in the eyes again. She just wanted to see that beautiful face of his to lose its emotionless mask.

And lose his mask and composure he did. And quite possibly, it was the most enchanting thing she’d ever seen in her life. He was just standing there and looking at her, _really_ looking at her. She’d never been looked at with such complete adoration. _Not even by Arthur_ , she mused and felt a pang of guilt, because it was the first time she thought about him since she’d left for King Uther’s camp.

But her thoughts inevitably went back to the man by the waterfall. To the moment he entered the pond. His naked body, even battered, was beautiful. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was a warrior – all that power hidden in the lean body. And then he turned his back to her and she couldn’t help the loud gasp at the sight of his horribly scarred back. The very same scars from her vision. She had only a moment to look at them, but the feeling of bone-deep compassion nestled in her heart.

She ran to the camp, ignoring Kaze’s innocent question of whether she’d seen something she liked. She also ignored the Monk when he eventually showed up and sat by the fire. She ate quickly and went to sleep, announcing she was exhausted.

Her father’s knowing look didn’t go unnoticed. She growled internally. It was all the Monk’s fault. _Lancelot’s fault_ , she corrected herself involuntarily.

* * *

Lancelot got woken up by whimpers coming from Percival, whose sleep was taken over by nightmares. It was heartbreaking to listen to the child crying quietly, seeing his little back shaking with sobs, especially knowing that he – the Monk, was most likely responsible for this night terror.

All the man could do was lift the little body wrapped in his cloak onto his lap, hold the boy in his arms, and gently rock back and forth, while Percival was slowly getting out of the nightmare and calming down.

“You had another nightmare, my boy,” Lancelot said quietly, seeing a sleepy confusion on the child’s face and trying not to awaken the rest of the camp. He knew this little Fey would be embarrassed if anybody saw him in this vulnerable state. “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,” the man whispered with tears in his eyes and his lips against Percival’s forehead. 

“It’s ok. I didn’t want to sleep anyway,” murmured Percival with a typical child logic and made himself more comfortable in Lancelot’s arms. They stayed quiet for a while, listening to the crackling of the fire and creatures rustling through the night forest.

The boy lifted his face towards him and asked, “Would you tell me that story about the boy who lived with the Fairy Queen on an magical island? You know which one. The one where the boy was taught fighting by mermen.”

* * *

Nimue was pretending to be asleep.

Squirrel’s sobs had woken her up earlier and she wanted to go to him and chase the dreams away. But when she noticed the Monk taking such tender care of the boy, she decided not to interfere. She stayed vigilant though. She didn’t want to trust the man, no matter how much Squirrel did. She also didn’t trust herself to be near said man.

So she closed her eyes, occasionally glanced at that weird duo from across the fire. There was something special in the way, the Monk was so patient with Squirrel, how he seemed to enjoy all the infantile insults thrown at him, how he always made sure the boy was warm, fed, and safe. She couldn’t deny it was doing something to her heart. But she would rather die than admit that it had anything to do with her feelings for the Monk morphing into something less hostile. _For Lancelot_. She internally squirmed at the ease, and frequency, the name was bouncing around her mind.

She looked at them again discreetly when her eye caught a movement coming from where Merlin slept, leaning against a tree.

He wasn’t asleep. He was looking at her with a gentle smile on his face. She felt like her face got shoved into the fire. She turned away quickly and hid under her cloak, ready to die of humiliation.

Eventually, she fell asleep to the stories about a boy living with fairies, about magical apples, winged horses, the greenest of all forests, waterfalls glittering with thousands of stars, and nine ethereal maidens.

The next morning she was awakened by anxious Kaze. “We may have a company. We should move,” she said and immediately walked away to keep an eye on a road that ran a mere hundred yards away from their camp.

Nimue didn’t even need to ask who her friend meant by the _company_. She scrambled off the ground quickly, only to notice everyone but her father was up and ready to go. She walked up to Squirrel, who was fiddling with bags at the Goliath’s saddle. “Squirrel, go and wake Merlin up,” she ordered.

The boy looked at her suspiciously. “Why won’t you do it, you’re not doing anything else,” he turned back to the horse, “I’m busy here.”

Nimue glanced at the Monk, who froze in the middle of putting the weapons back in his scabbards, and was looking at her with the eyebrows raised. How dared he!

“Squirrel, I am your queen and I order you to do as I say,” she tried saying it with the haughtiest tone she could muster. The boy looked unimpressed but obediently marched away.

She could swear she heard the Monk snorted with laughter. She gave him a murderous look, pointing at the Sword. “That sword belongs to me, you…you thief!” she said with venom but didn’t demand the weapon back. She stomped away angry at herself for making a scene only because she didn't want to face either of the men. That would only lead to an uncomfortable conversation about the previous night and she decided to pretend that nothing had happened.

“Listen, everyone,” said Kaze after coming back from a reconnaissance. “We are in the clear for now, but the Paladins’ camp is too close for my liking. Besides, we ought to go anyway.”

“Don’t you want to find out what they are up to and where they are going?” asked Squirrel. “We may even manage to steal some food and weapons and burn the place down!” he was getting excited at the prospect of messing with the Red Paladins.

“They’re not alone. The Trinity Guard are with them. I saw at least four.” warned Kaze, who wasn’t completely against the boy’s plan.

“Pfft…That’s nothing,” said Squirrel dismissively. “Lancelot defeated a dozen of them all by himself,” the boy seemed truly impressed with the man’s skills. “So I don’t see a reason why the best two fighters from the Desert to the Ice Kingdom, a witch, a sorcerer and the best archer in Britannia, would have any problems with beating few gold-faced monks,” he finished with a shrug. Nobody commented on him calling himself _the best archer in Britannia_ , especially given he had no bow with him _._

The adults couldn’t disagree with his logic though. They also looked pretty impressed with the Monk, who looked quite uncomfortable with the attention he was getting.

He was fidgeting with the clasps of his belts, then said, “Percival isn’t wrong. We could take the Trinity Guard on, but we don’t know how many Paladins there are,” he looked distant for a second, “One of us needs to sneak in and check the numbers and maybe, if lucky, we may even get information on where they are headed.”

“I’ll do it!” volunteered Squirrel.

“No, you won’t,” said Nimue and the Monk in unison. They glanced at each other and then hastily looked away.

“But I’m small and fast,” the boy was whining. “Nimue, you cannot do it - you’re still hurt and you, Lancelot, are huge and clunky with all the weapons, belts, and stuff attached to you. They would find you within a minute!” the boy was pouting. Everybody looked at the Monk again. It seemed it was officially accepted as Squirrel’s guardian and it was up to him to decide on the boy’s best interest. Nimue didn't mind as long as she could keep an eye on the man.

He sighed. “He’s not wrong… again, but,” he gave Squirrel stern look, “for the record, I am not happy with it. Just so you know.” He thought for a while before saying, “We will be covering your back just in case something goes wrong. You’re going to get a punct head-start.” He grabbed the boy’s shoulders and said, “No straying from the tracks, no contact with any of the enemies, if _anything_ seems off, you will retreat at once. Is that clear, Percival?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Squirrel said impatiently. “You're fretting like an old woman,” he complained but it was clear the boy liked being fussed over by the man. “Can I go now?”

The Monk nodded and made room for Nimue, who hunkered down in front of Squirrel. “Remember, run fast…”

“…like a fox!” the boy grinned, excited he could be of help. He turned around to leave but then, suddenly, stopped and turned to the Monk. “Promise me, you won’t leave,” His eyes filled with fear when he whispered. “You wouldn’t, would you?”

The Monk knelt in front of the boy and looked into his eyes. “I will be here, Sir Percival. I gave you my word and I don’t break my promises. We are brothers now and I will protect you till my last breath,” he swore solemnly.

Squirrel stared at the man in front of him for a long time. Finally, he looked at the ground embarrassed, sniffling. “Well, if your breath is as vile as your face, let’s hope it will happen sooner rather than later,” he grumbled trying not to show how much the Monk’s words affected him. Seeing the man smiling at him, Squirrel sent him a shy smile, wiped his nose with a sleeve, and took off running deep into the forest.

Only when the boy was out of sight, Nimue snapped out of the shock that left her staring at the Monk with her mouth agape. She didn’t expect that affection in his voice when speaking to her little friend. Nor the seriousness and respect he treated Squirrel with. But, most of all, she didn’t expect her own reaction to the man’s smile – a gentle lift of his mouth’s corners, a little bit lop-sided, barely there. Yet, her breath stuttered, her stomach tingled, her heart missed a beat. She did not like what that could mean.

* * *

Lancelot was worried about Percival’s safety. He regretted agreeing to the plan the moment he lost the boy out of his sight. _If anything happens_ … he couldn't even finish that thought, so he turned around to make himself busy and immediately was met with Nimue’s captivated expression.

She had that look on her face from the Rugen’s castle. He stopped breathing and had to ball his hands up into tight fists, or else he would have to touch her.

He heard Merlin clearing his throat somewhere behind and that broke the spell they seemed to be held by every time their eyes met.

“Shall we?” asked the sorcerer brushing past them. _Smug bastard_ , Lancelot thought as he joined Kaze and Nimue.

They left the horses nearby and snuck closer so they could see a natural embankment at the edge of the forest. Percival was hunched down near the top, looking around. He spotted them, he smiled and waved. However, when he turned back to watch the camp, he stiffened, then stood up and took a step back.

Something was wrong. Lancelot’s stomach dropped, he couldn’t even hear the usual whispers in his mind over his own heartbeat. Terror gripped him. He looked at Nimue. She knew. 

He shot up and start running at the very moment a wave of red cloaks and gold faces spilled over the top of the embankment. Percival was trying to avoid the monks, dodging their swords, rolling away from their maces. Luckily, he managed to hide under the root of a fallen tree.

Lancelot stabbed. He swang and swirled his swords. He cut through the flesh of anyone and anything in his way. He would get to the boy. He would save him. 

He looked for Percival again, missing the moment a Trinity Guard soldier swung their flail at him. Lancelot fell to the ground and his sword went flying. He had only one weapon now. He knew that wouldn’t be enough. He also knew he couldn’t give up until Percival was back safe with Nimue.

Suddenly, just as Lancelot was about to be dealt a powerful blow, green vines shot up from underneath the ground and impaled the Guard, killing them instantly. The Monk rolled away quickly and grabbed the dead soldier’s sword. He looked at Nimue. She was kneeling, her face focused. Her cheeks were adorned with green leaf markings. She was holding the sword he had dropped, the rune engravings were pulsating with golden light. For a second he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was in control. She was glorious.

 _She saved his life_.

With his and Kaze’s skills, and Nimue’s magic, the skirmish ended quickly. The forest floor was littered with dozens of bodies. Lancelot was standing in the middle of the battlefield, heaving.

He noticed Percival getting out of his hideout and running towards him. He turned around to see whether everyone was unharmed. Merlin and Nimue were standing nearby Kaze, who was cleaning her bloodied blade. He met Nimue’s gaze and nodded with gratitude. She nodded back, but suddenly the feral look in her eyes turned into horror when she looked towards the bank. He whipped his head around just to see a single monk with a bow and arrow ready to shoot. He was aiming at him. But excited Percival ran into the trajectory of the arrow.

Lancelot dropped to his knees and screamed as the assassin released the arrow.

Percival’s smile dissipated when the arrow reached his back and the boy fell lifelessly into his waiting arms.


	5. The Green Knight

[ ](https://sta.sh/016iu5xgh50c)

All sound got sucked out of the world. There was only paralysing numbness. Nimue’s mind couldn’t comprehend what was happening. All she could do was to watch kneeling Lancelot holding motionless Percival pressed to his chest and rocking back and forth. He was quietly cursing, begging, and praying to whatever gods and spirits that were out there. She slowly approached and knelt in front of him, wrapped her arms around both Squirrel and the man. Squirrel's little body was so warm and he looked as if he was just sleeping. Nimue tightened the embrace and sobbed. 

They stayed like that for a while when, suddenly, Lancelot raised his head and pulled away from her and pressed his hand to Squirrel's chest.

"He's not gone yet," he whispered and looked up at her with contagious hope in his eyes.

She scrambled off the ground quickly and picked her Sword up from the spot she dropped it. She could do it. She could help her little friend! She focused on the Sword while holding her one hand on Squirrel's back.

She heard Merlin's worried voice when he put his hand on her shoulder, "Daughter, are you sure that's a good idea? You're already weakened from the fight."

"I don't care," she was determined and was prepared to suffer any consequences of over-using her connection to the Hidden. She focused. She reached out. She implored.

But no answer came. "It can't be," she whispered in disbelief. Why when she needed the Hidden's help the most, she got none? "Give him to me, Lancelot. Maybe I just need to hold him to make it work," she said to the man in front of her and gently wrapped her arms around Squirrel.

"Don't do it!" the warning came from behind. Nimue looked back and gasped in shock. A familiar figure wearing a green spangenhelm with antlers and sitting atop a brown horse, emerged from the dense foliage of the forest.

Gawain. The Green Knight.

 _But how?_ was all she could think of before the numbness returned. He approached them, took his helmet off and knelt next to her. “Don't remove him from the Monk's arms, Nimue," Gawain said gently, holding her hand. "He's the only reason Squirrel is still alive," he said softly, "But we need to hurry.”

Nimue was just staring at him in astonishment, not quite registering his words, so he turned to Lancelot, looked into his teary eyes, and said, “Help me out here, brother.”

Lancelot snapped out of the shock at once, “What do you want me to do?” he whispered. He looked so lost, sad and in need of some guidance and she wasn't that person right now so she was grateful for her friend to be here to help them.

“Turn him slightly so I have an access to his back and can remove the arrow to see whether it was treated with anything,” Gawain ordered while getting a satchel filled with herbs and other medicinal essentials ready.

Nimue finally regained her composure and moved to the side, so Gawain could have more access. She was by the boy’s head, one hand on his head, the other one on Lancelot’s back. She rested her head on the man’s shoulder and he gently leaned onto her. The young woman never felt this kind of solidarity with anyone in her life. This little Fey meant everything to both of them. He couldn’t just perish! For the first time, she willingly admitted she was glad the man was here. He understood and shared her pain. He was her anchor.

After taking the arrow out, Gawain examined it and identified the poison, then quickly applied some medicament to the wound and covered it with a piece of clean linen.

“Now we need to take him to a Tusk healer.” He looked at the two young worried faces and smiled to calm them down. “Squirrel is alive and he’ll get through it if we get him some tusk powder to neutralise the poison as soon as possible. Sadly my plants can only slow it down, not get rid of it.” He put his hand on Nimue’s shoulder. “Are the Tusks still in Gramaire?” 

“No, all the Fey had left the day I agreed to become King Uther’s prisoner,” said Nimue and let out a sob. “I’m afraid they all are on the ships sailing to the Desert Kingdoms.” She felt like she was about to faint. She couldn’t breathe. Life couldn’t be this cruel!

“No, they are not,” a woman’s voice startled everyone.

“Morgana!” Nimue exclaimed and immediately paled, remembering what her dear friend’s profession was now. “Please, tell me you’re not here to…”

“No, Nimue, it is not his time yet,” the Widow said gently. “I’m here because I can help,” she shrugged seeing everyone’s confusion. “I may be the Death Bringer, but I can’t be told what to do in my spare time,” she smirked with a twinkle in her eye. “Now, let me and Merlin take little Squirrel to the North Beach, where the Tusks are currently stranded… along with all others,” she looked at Lancelot as if knowing he was the one to make the decision.

He just nodded and said, “How will you get him there faster than us?” 

“Magic, my boy, how else?” relieved Merlin joined the conversation. “May I?” he gestured at Squirrel.

Lancelot let the sorcerer lift the boy off his arms carefully. At the last moment, he leaned forward and kissed the child’s cheek and whispered, “I’ll see you soon, Percival. I promise.”

Merlin didn’t linger any longer but waved his staff, mumbled some words, and disappeared in a cloud of smoke along with the boy and Morgana.

“Magic…huh,” mumbled wide-eyed Monk, mesmerised.

Nimue looked at him. He looked at her. The tears in their eyes were replaced with a little spark of hope. She smiled, he nodded.

“We should probably go,” said Kaze, approaching them. She had been standing quietly nearby up until now. “We still have quite a long way ahead of us.”

After a long silent ride, she turned to her old friend, “Gawain, I hope you are coming with us to the Desert Kingdoms?” she asked hopefully.

He shook his head. “No… but neither are you,” he said cryptically and turned back to looked at the Monk, who was riding along with Kaze. The man looked deep in his thoughts and his face had the usual emotionless mask back on. Gawain turned back to the young woman at his side. “We belong in the forests, rivers, and lakes, not some lifeless sandy wastelands” he smiled. “I’ll travel with you as far as the Sanctuary, but then we will part as I have something to do, some allies to rally.”

“Allies? What for?” Nimue frowned.

“My dearest friend, a battle that will decide our very existence is coming and we need anyone and everyone. Luckily for us, we already have a leader who will unite all Fey, even if he doesn't know about it yet,” he winked at Nimue conspiratorially.

“He?” she raised her eyebrows. Wasn’t she – the Fey Queen, supposed to be the one to lead their people?

Gawain chuckled as if he could read her mind. “My Queen, fret not, you will take our people to safety and protect them. However, only the Fire Bearer can reignite the Fey Fire that will bring all the Fey together and lead us to victory.”

“The Fire Bearer?” she was getting more confused by a minute. She turned to Kaze and asked, “Have you heard of this Fire Bearer, Kaze?”

The Bexare woman glanced at the Monk and asked carefully, “Why are you asking?”

“Well, Gawain says that apparently this Fire Bearer is supposed to win a war for us… Oh! And unite _all_ Fey,” Nimue rolled her eyes and looked at the Monk. His face was expressionless yet again, except for his eyes. If looks could kill, Gawain would drop to the ground, dead.

The Green Knight looked back at the younger man, who had his lips pressed in a tight line, and asked, “We’ll talk later, my brother?”

The only answer he got from the Monk was a curt nod. Nimue looked between them two, then shook her head and rolled her eyes. _Men._

* * *

Most of the chatter didn’t even reach Lancelot. He was too consumed by worry for Percival. He knew the boy would get the best possible care, but it didn’t sit right with him, that he wasn’t there to protect him. He believed Gawain when he said Percival would be fine. _But why did he say the boy was alive only because of me?_ he frowned. Wasn't it supposed to work only on himself, not others?

He was taken out of reverie by words _Fire Bearer_ and started paying attention to what was being said. He didn't like the Green Knight bringing it up, though he knew that at some point it would have to be mentioned in some form or fashion. So when the man suggested they talked, he agreed immediately. 

The opportune moment didn’t arise until much later when they were setting up camp in a forest clearing with a central grassy area with a group of boulders in the middle of it, and an old firepit, a remnant of travellers visiting this place before this group of Fey.

When the fire was on, water was brought from a nearby stream and the horses were taken care of, both men left to hunt something for a meal.

Once out of an earshot, Gawain said sincerely, “I’m so glad you’re back, brother.” They were looking around for their prey as well as edible fruit and plants.

“I am too...I think,” said quietly Lancelot, not looking at the other man. He wasn’t exactly proud of himself how they parted the last time. He also didn’t quite understand why there was no hatred in the man for him. “Took me a while though. Long enough for you to get tortured to death,” he raised his eyebrows enquiringly.

“Ah, death is not the end, my Ash friend,” the older of men smiled. “If anything, it’s only the beginning for some of us. I don’t know what and how it happened but I was blessed with another chance at life. I can feel my senses are sharper and my tracking and fighting skills are improved… I bet you wouldn’t win against me that easily this time around,” he grinned and then said thoughtfully, “Something is different but _good_ different.”

“I’m sorry,” said Lancelot after a long pause. “I’m sorry I didn't believe you then and just left…”

“Don’t be, Lancelot, I’m not,” said Gawain. “I saw the potential in you back at the camp and I’m glad I didn’t rat you out as Fey. My gut told me you’d find a way back to us. And so you did.”

“But not before so many had died by my hand,” whispered the younger man, covering his face with the hands. He still was holding on to the idea of God. Otherwise, he'd have to admit he murdered countless people for nothing, for no _higher_ purpose. He was also slowly realising that Father Carden's teachings weren't _godly_ at all. But the old man was the only family he had left, he was the only one that accepted him...or so Lancelot thought, “How will I ever repay?”

“You won’t,” the Green Knight said simply. “But you also got a second chance, like me. Make it count. Helping the Fey to secure their home or find a new one away from human greed and superstitions should make a good start,” he patted Lancelot on a back.

“You mentioned Fire Bearer,” the younger man wondered. “How will I do what you said I would?” Surely nobody would answer _his_ call nor would they follow him. Both Humans and Fey thought of him as a demon after all.

“You’ll know when the time comes, brother,” answered Gawain, looking up to the sky.

They walked in silence for a while. Being called _brother_ , made him feel something resembling hope. But how could that man just forgive him like that? Would he ever be able to forgive himself? He doubted.

“So, it looks like you and Nimue are getting along pretty well,” the older man asked casually.

Lancelot snorted, “Define _pretty well_. If you mean that she’s not trying actively to murder me, then sure. We are doing just fine,” he looked toward the other man and smiled sardonically. “She hates my guts – not that I blame her. She would probably have me killed by now if not for Percival.”

There was only silence coming from the man’s side so Lancelot looked at him curiously.

“Are you serious?” Gawain was rooted in place and looking at him in shock. “Lancelot, let me explain something because I know you don’t have any experience with women...or anyone for that matter,” he firmly grabbed the embarrassed Monk by his shoulders and continued, “Nimue doesn’t hate you. She is terrified of you, but not the way you think. And from the looks of it, so are you, my friend,” he finished with a soft smile.

“You know too much,” murmured Lancelot, feeling heat rising in his face and hearing the other man chuckling knowingly. “Now be quiet or we’ll never catch anything,” he scorned him and pointed at a wild boar not far from them.

He better focus on the hunt, not the witch.

* * *

“Kaze, why do men feel the need to show no emotions? Is it because they think it would make them seem weak?” wondered Nimue, bending down to pick some wood for the fire. She couldn’t reconcile the Monk’s emotionless face with the one filled with sorrow and anguish from earlier that day.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” her friend side-eyed her, “Or maybe it is because certain hooded broody monk was conditioned to be this way,” Kaze finished, watching the witch with curiosity.

“Oh, I think it’s quite possible. Lancelot said after all…” Nimue stopped herself too late. Flames of embarrassment engulfed her chest, neck, and face.

“Oh, it’s _Lancelot_ now, is it?” the woman’s smile made her Bexarian features resemble a very well-fed and content cat. She stopped with the hands on her hips and wide grin on her face. “So, what did our dear _Lancelot_ say?”

“Nothing,” growled mortified Nimue. She kept her head down to avoid any eye contact with Kaze. _That’s what you get when you allow yourself sympathise_ _with the enemy_ , she scorned herself angry that she let him made her feel things she wasn’t supposed to feel towards a monster like him.

“Listen, Nimue,” said the older woman kindly, walking up to her. “There is no shame in being enticed by an attractive man, which Lancelot is,” she put her arm around her and rubbed her shoulder, shushing her protests. “And I must admit, there is something very alluring in the knowledge he has never bedded anyone,” she winked and smiled cheekily. The witch wanted to drop dead. Now. “All that to say, you need a man and this particular man seems to be doing a great job at catching your attention every time he lifts a finger,” the cat-like grin was back.

Nimue turned away to hide her reaction the Kaze’s words. She was appalled, and outraged, and…and her heart was thumping so hard, she was surprised it didn’t just burst out of her chest. Unwanted images appeared in her mind, bringing the memory of the previous night back up. Her mind conjured imaginary things she wouldn’t even dare to think of doing with Arthur that one night. Things…

“I have a man, thank you very much!” her voice was hoarse.

“Pfft…Who? That human boy you fumbled under the sheets with once?” her friend’s voice was derisive. 

“I love him and I want to spend my life with him!” 

“Love… A piece of nice arse, dashing smile and a pair of pretty eyes don’t make a good foundation for undying love, girl,” Kaze calmly said. “Nimue, love isn’t born instantly, without hurdles. It’s a process, in which you learn all that is good and bad about the other person. It is about discovering that special connection two people can share. Think about it,” she looked in the witch’s eyes, “If you took Arthur’s good looks, charming personality, and all the skills that make him a good leader, not a life-companion and lover, away, what’s left there?”

There was a silence on Nimue’s part. As she was processing her friend's words, they started walking back to the camp, carrying enough wood to sustain the fire for the night. Eventually, she whispered, “Not much… we don’t have in common all that much,” a tear slid down her cheek. “But he’s a good man, a brave and clever man too! I trust his advice. That must count for something!”

Kaze nodded. “He is all that. He is a good man. But what you just described is a man faithfully standing by his queen’s side, not a lover or a soulmate. Ask yourself, would he understand what you’ve been, you still are, going through ever since you were marked by the Dark Lord? Would he understand your bone-deep loneliness? You should listen to your heart, my dear friend, not to the fear of being alone and…” she glimpsed towards the campsite and didn’t finish her thought as they noticed the men were already back and preparing a sizable wild boar for roasting. Nimue watched them for a while, contemplating her friend's words.

Gawain seemed to like the Monk and treated him without a shred of hostility. They were working shoulder-to-shoulder and having a quiet conversation. The younger man, who wasn’t hiding his face under the hood for the first time in a while, even smiled few times and every time that happened, her heart would skip a beat. After the meat was cleaned and portioned, Monk got up to grab some sticks suitable for skewering. Gawain said something particularly funny, because the young man chuckled and smiled with a toothy grin.

Suddenly, he looked up and their eyes met. He was still grinning and his blue eyes were sparkling with mirth. She should look away but she was enchanted, caught by his stare, unable to breathe. As they were simply looking at each other, his grin turned into the shyest of smiles.

This was the very moment Nimue knew she was in serious trouble.

By the time the meal was ready, the moon was high in the cloudless sky, the night creatures were reigning over the forest and the crackling of the fire was creating a serene atmosphere.

They ate in silence. Nimue was deep in thought. So was the Monk, guessing from the absent look in his eyes… not that she knew _or cared_ what his eyes looked like in various situations. She caught him a few times looking at her. He quickly averted his eyes, however, that meant he knew she also was glancing at him all the time.

Finally, after their bellies were full, Gawain got up and asked her, “Nim, would you come and help me find plants needed to treat wounds?”

The girl looked up at him from her sitting position. “Oh, but I’m fine. Whatever that disgusting Rugen had applied to my wounds, they are almost healed! I must say I’m impressed and I’d love to know what he used to…”

“It’s not for you,” he interrupted her mildly and pointed at the Monk. “It’s for Lancelot. And we’ll need some for the journey too so I really could use your help.”

Suddenly the memory of the wounds on his back returned and she looked at the Monk. He was sitting on the ground with his back leaning against a boulder, looking down, avoiding everyone’s eyes as if ashamed of his scars. Just like she was ashamed of hers.

She stood up and nodded. “Let’s go,” she said quietly and grabbed her satchel off the ground.

Nimue was glad she could spend some alone time with her dear friend. She asked about his return. He didn’t have a clear answer for her. But he said he woke up in the Bertilak Forest after experiencing visions of green flames, a burning tree, and a misty island. And the feeling he had to hurry to find them.

“A burning tree?” Nimue got rooted in the spot. “I saw it in my vision too!”

Gawain didn’t seem surprised. “What else did you see?” he enquired and Nimue told him all the details of her vision. She also told him about the Monk fighting the Lepers with the fiery Sword of Power! He considered her for a moment, deep in thought, then just sighed. “I suppose we need to talk to Merlin about that. He knows his mysticism inside-out,” he waved his hand imitating a sorcerer throwing a spell. “At least one would expect from a sorcerer as old as he is,” his eyes twinkled with amusement.

Nimue giggled. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, my friend,” she said and hugged him.

While picking all the needed ingredients, they talked about everything that happened since they had parted ways. He told her about his first meeting with the Weeping Monk, how broken the young man had been. She stayed quiet for a long time.

“What must happen to a man to break him so completely?” she turned her huge eyes to him, looking for answers. He had none.

“I wasn’t privy to that information. Only to some visions of the events to come,” Gawain said with an apologetic smile. “ _But_ judging by the way Kaze is around him, she may know something. You know how tough and unforgiving she usually is,” he finished, shrugging. Nimue nodded slowly. Not only Kaze but also Merlin and Squirrel seemed to care about the Fey Slayer.

The thought of her tiny friend brought tears to her eyes. She truly hoped the boy was on the road to recovery and would be back in action soon. She swallowed the tears. Of course, he will. _He’s even more stubborn than you, you silly goose._ She smiled at that thought but the smile disappeared when she thought of the Monk. _Does he know how resilient Squirrel is?_ She felt an obligation to inform the man of that fact.

They worked away in friendly silence for a while and when it looked like they gathered all they needed, Nimue turned to go to the camp. She managed to take a few steps when she heard Gawain.

“Give him a chance, my dear friend,” he said quietly. “I saw it in his eyes. He really wants to atone. But he has so much darkness in him that it makes him afraid to reach out for help. He’s so lost and lonely, and convinced there’s nobody that would be willing to…even be around him,” Gawain said sadly, but then smiled. “Maybe with an exception of Squirrel. Every time Lancelot speaks of him, his face brightens up. It’s quite a sight, I tell you,” he chuckled.

 _Would Lancelot’s face brighten up when talking or thinking about me?_ Her traitorous mind tended to go to places where her heart secretly led. She sighed. This emotional maze was exhausting!

“Let’s go back. I’m tired and we still need to patch him up,” she said with a tired voice.

When they came back. Kaze was already nodding off. The Monk was as they left him - pensive and motionless. She and Gawain concocted the right medicament. She tore strips of fabrics from her undershirt and handed them to her friend.

“Oh, I need to empty my bladder,” he got up and said, “But by all means, you go ahead, Nim!” and he walked away.

She was left stunned. She didn’t want to touch the Monk. _She didn’t!_ But she didn't want to be seen as a spoiled brat so she sat next to the man and arranged the ointments, rags, and fabric strips needed for the procedure.

The Monk was watching her every move. Didn’t he trust her? What an ungrateful creature! She saved his useless life after all!

“Would you mind?” she asked dryly, indicating she wanted him to take his clothes off for easier access to his injuries.

“I don’t mind at all,” he said quietly looking into her eyes.

His words brought the last night’s events right back to the front of her mind. The traitorous heat started rising in her cheeks. She looked down at her hands, lips pressed in a tight line. He didn’t say anything else, just carefully removed the necessary clothing but wouldn’t turn his back to her.

She raised her eyebrows. “I need you to turn around so I can apply…”

“No need for that.,” he interrupted and tried to take the ointments from her. “Just give it to me and I’ll apply it myself.”

“How will you apply it to the wounds to your back, genius?” she sighed and pulled the little bowl out of his reach.

“I won’t,” he gritted his teeth. “Those stay there and nobody touches them,” he stared at her.

She took a deep breath and said, “Fine. Have it your way, _Monk_ ,” their eyes met. “Now, don’t move.” She gently applied the mixtures to his bruises and cuts, and covered them with the pieces of fabric. The heat of his body, as well as the silkiness of his unbroken skin, did something to her. She felt an urge to press her cheek to his chest and just stay like that… because it felt like the safest place in the world. _Get hold of yourself, you unbalanced idiot!_ She scolded herself and went back to being a methodical nurse.

She was impressed with the progress of the healing. From what she heard, he got injured in a fight against the Trinity Guard, trying to smuggle Squirrel out. She was impressed indeed. “Whoever patched you up did a great job. You’re healing incredibly fast,” she simply had to vocalise her appreciation for the craftsmanship.

“It was Polly,” he said and hesitated like he wanted to add something more. But he just looked away instead. 

“Polly?” she was confused.

“The Faun healer, to whom I owe my life,” she didn’t expect such an honest answer.

They looked at each other for a while, appreciating the non-hostile atmosphere. There was something so desperate in his eyes, she just pivoted her body and sat next to him, resting against the large boulder. They just looked at the fire. Each in their own world. Nimue started feeling the night chill and shivered but didn’t do anything about it as her eyes got heavy, due to the cozy warmth of the body next to hers. Her head lulled and rested on the Monk’s shoulder.

“You know…Squirrel is a tough kid and he will be just fine,” she murmured, half asleep. “I just thought you should know that, Lancelot…” and she was gone.

The last she registered was his warm hands wrapping her in a cloak.


	6. The Ash Man

[ ](https://sta.sh/024t8wwoconm)

The sun was in the zenith when they were nearing the Bertilak Sanctuary the next day. The tree canopy was sparkling with sunbeams peeking through the leaves that were casting dancing shadows on the forest floor. The bird song was adding to the peaceful atmosphere.

In these serene moments, Lancelot’s thoughts wandered to the last night at the camp. The moment he had shared with Nimue made him realise she had become important to him. He would protect her as long as she’d wanted him around. He also knew the ice he was walking on was very thin and anything might trigger the woman’s wrath. _Oh, don’t I know that very well_ , he smirked.

The moment they entered the familiar mossy ravine, his brother, followed by others, ran out of the hideout to greet them.

He barely made it down from Goliath’s back before Hector embraced him, “You made it! Welcome back,” his brother exclaimed, then nodded and smiled at Kaze, who looked like she was also glad to see him. She took the saddlebag off her horse and joined others by the cottage. Hector looked around confused, "Where's Percival and Merlin, Lancelot?"

After he was told of what happened, the young man said with sadness, "I like that little boy. I hope he'll survive this," he looked pensive for a moment and then he smiled, "Of course he will! He a though lad!" he laughed, then noticed the newcomers and looked between Nimue and Gawain, then Lancelot, waiting for introductions.

“Nimue, Gawain, this is Hector,” Lancelot put his hand on Hector’s shoulder. “Hector, this is Nimue – the Wolf-Blood Witch,” he bowed his head towards the woman. “And this is Gawain – The Green Knight himself,” he finished with a respectful nod towards the older man.

Hector looked dumbfounded. “Wow, the Green Knight and the Wolf-Blood Witch,” he whispered with adulation.

Nimue blushed and said, “If you don’t mind, I would prefer to be called Nimue,” she said pouting, looking at Lancelot, hostility clear in her eyes. They locked their eyes in the battle of wills. _Looks like the ceasefire is over_ , Asher sighed.

Gawain snorted at that and stepped forward to shake the young man’s hand, “I, on the other hand, don’t mind being called the Green Knight, although my friends call me Gawain…and I hope we will become friends, Hector,” Lancelot nearly burst out laughing seeing his brother’s reaction. The poor soul nearly fainted from excitement. The Knight looked at him fondly, also amused. “And please don’t mind Nimue,” he theatrically whispered. “It seems she and Lancelot play a game nobody knows the rules of. They’ve been at it for the last six days and we are yet to see the winner,” he winked at Hector. Lancelot didn’t appreciate the mockery and from the look on Nimue’s face, neither did she. Gawain just raised his hands in mock defense and laughed, “Fine, fine. I’ll shut up now.”

Hector snapped out of the shock, turned to Nimue and said, “I apologise. I didn’t mean to be rude,” he looked nervous. “It’s just I’ve heard about the Wolf-Blood Witch from the monks in the abbey but never thought I’d meet the great sorceress in person! Is it true you can turn into a bear and maul a whole platoon with a single sweep of a paw?!” his eyes were huge and hungry for any fantastical tales. Lancelot looked at Gawain and both smiled and shook their heads.

The witch just stared for a minute. “Uhm…no, I cannot do that, Hector, I’m sorry,” she said finally, her eyes crinkled with amusement.

“So can’t my brother,” disappointed Hector hung his head.

“Your brother?” Nimue asked politely.

“Lancelot is my brother,” the young man explained and then said to Lancelot, “You need to work on your social skills, Lance. Seriously. I’ve been locked up for the last nine years and I know more than you.”

“Oh,” was all Nimue said to the news. She was frowning, trying to process it. Then she asked Hector, but looked at Lancelot, “And why would your _brother_ know anything about Fey magic?”

“Because he is Fey!” Hector was more than happy to supply her with an answer.

 _Shit_ , was all the Monk could think of when he saw her eyes growing dark and angry.

Gawain attempted to derail the current direction the conversation was taking by saying lightly, “Let’s go inside and eat something. We need to start preparing for tomorrow’s departure.”

She wasn’t having any of it. “Gawain, tell me, _my friend_ , did you know that this... Fey Slayer… this cold-blooded assassin, this… creature, is a Fey?” she gritted out through her teeth, her eyes never leaving the Monk.

“Uhm… Yes, I did,” Gawain admitted coyly and looked at Lancelot apologetically.

“And for how long have you known, _my friend_?” she said in a low, quiet voice. So quiet it was obvious she was close to reaching her boiling point.

The Knight took a deep breath and said, closing his eyes, “Since we had battled in the forest before I was taken to the Red Paladins’ camp.”

“Oh?” her eyes finally left Lancelot and he could breathe again. Now, she was staring Gawain down. “And you forgot to mention it when we were talking about the events of past weeks because…?” she said almost sweetly. Almost.

“I hoped you’d get to know Lancelot before this,” Gawain gestured towards themselves, “would happen. I hoped you’d find compassion for him,” he said simply. Lancelot was taken back by the man’s generosity towards him. He gulped trying to will away the tears he felt at the back of his eyes.

“Well, you were wrong,” she looked at the Monk again and growled with venom, “You are an abomination,” green marking started appearing on her cheeks, “You are a traitor,” her cheeks got completely covered in bright green leaf markings, her eyes shone with tears and contempt, “You don’t deserve to live, you monster!” at that, tears in her eyes, spilled over as the vines started creeping towards Lancelot, wrapping around his legs, travelling up his body until he was completely tangled within the deadly vine trap. He closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable, for his final punishment, for what he truly deserved.

But nothing happened.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. Her beautiful face was marred with tears and so very sad, his heart nearly broke. There was an unnamed plead in her eyes as if she was begging him to deny that he betrayed his own kind.

He felt the wetness of tears on his own cheeks when he looked into her eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

At that she let a loud sob out, covered her mouth, and ran away, leaving him immobilised and devastated.

The sanctuary was filled with deafening silence. Everybody witnessed the Fey Queen’s judgment on him. Hector looked pale and scared. Kaze looked at the ground, Gawain looked at him with such pity, he had to close his eyes.

He was truly on his own.

He felt numb and empty, and was still trapped in the vines. He managed to free his hand and reached for one of the vines on the outer layer of the cocoon and held onto it. He wasn’t sure why he was doing it but the whispers in his head encouraged him to do so. He closed his eyes and focused on visualising the green flame igniting within himself. Mere moments later he felt his fingertips tingling. He heard gasps and opened his eyes. All the people came in closer and were looking at him in wonderment. Lancelot wasn’t sure why but then he looked at the hand holding onto the vine and saw its skin match the vine texture and colour, and the Fey fire brightly shooting from his fingers and spreading through the vines, razing them in seconds and immediately turning them into ashes.

He was free now. But he felt trapped in the vicious circle of his own life choices. Choices that rendered him unacceptable and unwanted amongst both humans and the Fey. _And here I thought I couldn’t be any lonelier than I was with Red Paladins_ , he thought.

He didn’t want to talk to anyone or look into anyone’s eyes so he lifted his and looked towards a ridge of the ravine… and saw her standing atop. Her sad and swollen eyes looking at him in awe. He averted his eyes and turned around and started walking towards Goliath.

He ignored his brother asking where he was going. When he was seated in the saddle, he turned to Gawain and nodded. “I’ll be back for tomorrow’s departure,” he said quietly, “But in case you’ll be gone by that time…” he hesitated, “Thank you…for believing in me, for being a friend after all I’ve…” he couldn’t finish as he felt his eyes swelling with tears. He wished they could stay friends and allies, but it wasn’t to be. “Farewell, Gawain,” he nodded curtly and rode away as fast as he could. Without looking back.

* * *

When Nimue came back to the hideout, she was welcomed by silence. People were sitting around the fire, avoiding her gaze. Even Kaze seemed uneasy. There was no sign of The Green Knight.

“Where is Gawain?” Nimue asked nobody in particular. She needed his presence right now. She needed his wisdom and support.

“He left soon after Lancelot,” Kaze replied and handed her his satchel. “He said there’s everything in there you’d need to treat wounds. He also said to tell you he’ll see you soon.”

Nimue felt deflated. Gawain left without saying goodbye.

She sighed, “And what of the Monk? Will he be gracing us with his presence?” she couldn’t hold back the bitterness in her voice.

She felt so betrayed and hurt. She felt like a fool for not recognising the Fey in him. But she also felt the gaping hole in her very being when she saw him leaving. How could she grow so attached to a man who devoted his life to annihilating her kind... _their_ kind, so quickly?

“He said he’d be back by tomorrow,” said Hector – _his_ brother, from his furthermost corner of the hut. She had so many questions about that young man. She hoped they would get a chance to chat at some point.

“And what made him think we’d be welcomed back?” the moment she said it she knew it was a wrong thing to say.

Hector paled. He opened his mouth a few times to utter an answer, but no answer came. Suddenly he got up and walked towards the exit. When passing by her, he said in a quiet, defeated voice, “I’ll wait outside for him and when he’s back, we’ll just leave so you don’t have to deal with him anymore, my lady,” he bowed his head and stormed out.

Nimue nearly let out a pained scream at the “ _we’ll just leave so you don’t have to deal with him anymore”._ It was like a physical pain tearing through her and that made her angry.

“Wait!” she ordered Hector before he reached the door. “He won’t be going anywhere,” her voice was regal and full of contempt. “He made a promise to help us get to the North Beach safely and he will keep that promise. Understood?” she looked at the young man and waited for his response. When he nodded, she added. “And only then he can go to his precious Christian Hell, where he belongs.” Oh, how she hated herself right now. But she was hurting and she wanted _him_ to hurt too.

“Yes, my lady,” was all Hector said quietly before closing the door behind him.

She spent the rest of the night laying on her side, facing a wall and crying silently. Because it was possible she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life.

The morning couldn’t come sooner. Nimue was exhausted after the sleepless hours of creating scenarios in her head, where she did things differently. Differently enough that Lancelot would stay with her… _with them_ , she corrected herself embarrassed.

When she got up, everybody was out already, making the final check-ups before leaving. There was a buzz of excitement that they would finally reunite with the others, after weeks of hiding from the Church.

She stepped outside and the first thing she did was to scan the area for the familiar face. She couldn’t him anywhere though. She started panicking. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“There,” said Kaze calmly, pointing at a hooded figure on a black horse, patiently waiting at the mouth of the valley. Hector was with him. 

Nimue calmed down momentarily but her heart started racing for another reason. _He came back_ , she thought to herself. It brought her comfort having him so close. Because whenever he was within her sight, she felt safe.

She mounted her horse and lead the group out of the Sanctuary. She stopped by the Monk. She wanted to say something but no words came. Besides she knew that most likely whatever came out of her mouth, would be the wrong thing to say. So she just looked at him but his face was hidden underneath the hood. He didn’t move or acknowledge her presence in any way. The only sign there was a living being under that hood, not a statue, was his stubble-covered chin peeking from underneath.

“You will lead the way, Monk. I and Kaze will be covering the rears,” she said in the most neutral voice she could muster. The only answer came in a form of a nod. That’s it. He had nothing to say to her.

She swallowed down the disappointment and turn her horse around to join her friend at the back of their little procession that consisted of the Monk and his brother at the front, seven Fauns, three Sky Folks, three Bexares, including Kaze, and her. Luckily none of them had injuries that could slow down the group. There were three children but they were old enough to be able to keep up with the adults.

She looked back at the Sanctuary for the last time, sighed, sad that the only memory of this place would be a painful one.

Nimue could smell the faint scent of the sea at the end of the sixth day of the journey. They were close. She felt immense relief that they’d be together with everyone else. There was safety in numbers. 

She and the Monk didn’t talk throughout the whole journey at all. They didn’t interact. Anything she wanted to say to him was said through Kaze.

She could see how kind and considerate he was with the people. He helped to carry their belongings, allowed the kids or tired adults to ride atop his horse, even carried the kids on his shoulders. He chose when or where to rest or camp. He led the group. People liked him and treated him with respect. 

But he never looked at her or talked to her. When she got too close to him, he would respectfully take a few steps back and keep his head down and mouth shut. _Good!_ She thought angrily, crying into her cloak at night.

By the end of the seventh day, they reached the North Beach. Nimue stopped on top of a grassy dune to admire the dusky sky above the sea. She closed her eyes and deeply inhaled the fresh sea air. She liked how the light breeze was playing with her hair and the sound of waves brought calm. When she opened her eyes, she instinctively searched for the Monk and her heart stuttered. Because there he was on his horse, not more than fifteen yards away, looking directly at her, in the same awestruck way he did at the waterfall. Except his eyes travelled through her facial feature as if he was trying to memorise everything he could about her. She’d swear she saw the sadness in his eyes. Or maybe she was just projecting her own feelings and wanted him to feel the same.

Nimue started moving towards him to tell him he can stay with them. She wanted to apologise for her cruel words. She didn't really think he was an abomination - because if he was, all the Fey were too. She wasn't sure whether she'll ever be able to forgive him but it didn't mean they couldn't be... friends. Who was she to deny him the right to atone and try to help out...especially now when they needed all the help they could get? What kind of a queen would she be if she didn't show mercy? She wanted to tell him she wouldn’t let anyone hurt him. She wanted…

But it wasn’t meant to be because suddenly cheering erupted from the beach when people noticed their arrival. The charm was broken. She gave Lancelot one last glance before she rode down the dune towards the happy crowds.

* * *

For a brief moment, Lancelot thought Nimue would talk to him and let him stay by her side. She had that looked in her eyes from the camp, when she was dressing his wounds. He’d give anything for it to happen. He would give anything for being allowed to stay. He was sure it would happen.

But it didn’t.

They were interrupted by welcoming chants of her people. Now they would never have a chance to talk again. It was over. He gave himself a few minutes to prepare for what was to come. 

His grim musings were interrupted by Kaze’s arrival. She stopped next to him and pensively looked down at the beach.

“I’ll accompany you, Lancelot. Don’t worry, once you’re by my side, nobody will touch you. It'll be fine,” he felt her words had a double meaning but he was too depressed to think about it.

“Thank you, Kaze,” he nodded with gratitude.

She looked as if she wanted to say something but instead, she just looked at him for a moment and then nodded, making her horse move down the sand. He followed. His stomach was in knots, fear was surrounding him like a tingling net. At any moment people would realise who he was and the panic, anger, and hate would spread like a wildfire. Lancelot retreated deeper into his hood.

The beach was littered with multiple fires, surrounded by groups of people eating, chatting, or singing. Children were running around freely. Laughter was heard from every corner of the beach. The Fey clans and Vikings seemed to be at peace with each other.

Still not noticed, they dismounted their horses and let them go off to the grassy banks. Kaze was by his side like she promised. _She is a good friend indeed_ , thought wistfully Lancelot.

And then it started. Heads started turning when they got close enough to the fire so they were fully recognisable to everyone around. The laughter, singing, and chatter were dying down. All that could be heard were gentle waves crashing on the shore and astonished whispers.

But it wasn’t what made his heart drop. It was the sight of Nimue embracing the man he once had beating, the man who was holding her tightly pressed against him. Her head was resting on his chest and his hand was caressing the back of her head. Lancelot felt numb. He just stared but when she looked towards him and their eyes met, he quickly turned his head to Kaze, who looked at him sympathetically.

He said quietly, looking towards the sea, “I just want to see Percival. As soon as I know he’s alright and I see him leaving this place safely, I’ll be gone immediately, I promise.”

“Let me check where he is,” Kaze squeezed his arm and walked towards tents set up against a small cliff nearby.

So he stood there, amongst the people he had been hunting and killing in the name of God for years. People who had every right to kill him in the most painful ways imaginable. He almost hoped somebody would just take a swing at him. But nobody moved, said or did anything. It was most likely confusion mixed with fear of having the Weeping Monk around them. He decided not to move either so they wouldn't see him as an active threat.

Where was Hector? He looked around and found him sitting with some of the people from Bertilak Sanctuary. Lancelot didn’t want to interact with him, it could only endanger his brother. Being associated with the Weeping Monk wouldn’t exactly make him popular.

Suddenly, an angry voice sounded over the silent crowd, “You!” the man who was embracing Nimue moments ago, was marching towards him, his sword out and ready to strike. “You have the gall to come here after all you’ve done, Monk!” he spat and then, without any warning, charged.

But Lancelot was ready. In a blink of an eye, the sword he took from a dead Trinity Guard, was in his hand blocking one vicious blow after another. He wasn’t trying to attack but he did want to humiliate the man...out of petty jealousy. And he had the means to do so.

Every blow was met with a block and an elbow in the man’s face or a punch in his gut. Lancelot got tired of it quite quickly so he knocked the opponent out with one powerful kick in the chest that sent the man onto the sand. The Monk kicked the man’s weapon away and took a few steps back and put his sword back in the scabbard. He didn’t say a word. He just stood there as if nothing had happened. But he did feel a wicked satisfaction seeing the man whom Nimue was obviously very close with, beaten in front of her as well as all others.

“Are you not going to finish what you have started, Monk?” the man was taunting him, still lying down.

“I haven’t started anything,” said bored Lancelot. He didn’t even look at the man.

“Where are your red friends, your piece of shit?” the man growled, “When will they show up? When we all are asleep, hm?”

“Arthur, stop!” Nimue was marching towards them. So that was the man’s name. “No Paladins are coming. He came here with us,” she explained, helping _Arthur_ up.

“What do you mean he came with you? Have you lost your mind, Nimue?!” Lancelot didn’t like the patronising tone of the man’s voice.

Nimue looked at the Monk for a long while and finally said quietly, “Maybe,” she frowned, “But he helped Merlin find and free me from the Lepers’ lair and he helped us to get here safely. We’ve been travelling together for almost a fortnight. If the attack on me had been planned by the Paladins, it would come when there were fewer of us,” she was trying to explain to _Arthur_ something he obviously wasn’t interested in understanding.

“Fine, whatever,” he walked up to Lancelot, “So you’ve helped them get here. Oh, well done,” he mockingly applauded, “Now you can leave, you scumbag,” he said through greeted teeth when he got right in Lancelot's face. The Monk started losing his patience and composure. _Arthur_ was provoking him but he knew he couldn’t take the bait, no matter what.

“No,” was all he said. He stood still and kept his voice even, remembering that his emotions could be used against him. He learnt that lesson a long time ago from the hands of Father Carden.

“No?” the disbelief in Arthur’s voice was almost amusing.

“You were to leave as soon as we’d get here, Lancelot,” reminded him Nimue sternly but her voice trembled when she said his name, and the sound of his name on her lips, as well as something in her eyes, made his heart flutter.

“Lancelot? That thing has a name?” genuinely surprised Arthur interjected but then something much darker appeared in his eyes when he looked at the woman.

The Monk decided to ignore the cheap tease by answering Nimue, “And I will leave, as soon as I know Percival is safe and well,” he said calmly and bowed his head respectfully. Then he turned around and left in the direction of where Kaze went earlier, without looking at anyone, especially the couple he left behind.

* * *

Nimue’s heart was still racing when she was watching the Monk disappearing in between tents scattered along rocky cliffs. The wild spark of hope she felt when he had refused to leave was extinguished as quickly as it appeared.

“Nimue, why are you crying?” Arthur tried to hug her but she stepped away and shook her head. She wasn’t even aware she was crying.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her eyes fixated at the spot where the Monk went. “Maybe I just need a good rest,” she smiled weakly.

Arthur watched her for the longest of moments, not quite believing her. He looked in the same direction Nimue was still staring.

“I see,” he grabbed her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes, “You know where to find me when you decide you want to talk,” he placed a kiss on her forehead and walked away towards a group of Vikings, amongst whom was a very-worried looking beautiful woman.

Nimue closed her eyes and massaged her temples. The vigor she had before they got to the Bertilak Sanctuary, was gone. She was exhausted when she should be strong. They needed to make plans but she couldn’t focus on anything. Maybe she indeed needed a rest. But first, she wanted to make sure Squirrel was doing well.

Avoiding everyone, she walked past the festivities and slipped into a tent occupied by healers. The scent of all possible medicinal remedies, the low light, the shadowy corners, and the quiet chatter of people gathered around a small fire in the centre of the large tent, made up for a truly serene place.

She noticed the little body of her dearest friend lying peacefully on a mat by a far wall of the tent. She hurried there and put her cheek against the boy’s chest, listening to his strong heartbeat. She choked on the tears of joy and smiled widely.

“Well, looks like I may be a semi-decent healer after all,” Nimue heard the voice of her beloved friend.

“Pym! My dear Pym!” they hugged happily and twirled together like they used to do when they were little girls.

“It’s so good to see you _alive_ ,” Pym laughed. “I was convinced that I would never see you again!”

They sat by Squirrel and exchanged news from past weeks. Nimue avoided talking about her mixed feelings towards the Monk, but she did tell Pym in detail about him saving her and helping them to reach the North Beach.

Pym listened and observed her closely, smiling. When Nimue finished reporting, Pym asked, “So…What is the Weeping Monk like when, you know, he’s not murdering everyone around him?” she grimaced, “We all know he looks like a demon with the ash tears, the flowy cloak, two swords, and the black horse… but what’s underneath the hood?” she was truly curious.

The women laid down next to Squirrel, on the ground, looking up at the ceiling and holding hands. Nimue was deep in thought. She stayed like that for a while, trying to find the right words to describe the man who had been occupying her every thought for some time now.

“Well, he’s young, not older than Arthur. He has intensely blue eyes. Some would even call him handsome. He’s quiet – not shy – just quiet. But there is that dark intensity about him that reminds you of how vicious he can be. He doesn’t smile a lot, but when he does…” Nimue stopped herself before she’d say something she might regret. “He is very gentle with children, especially with Squirrel,” she continued, chuckling, “He calls Squirrel _Sir Percival_ because this little rascal over here was knighted by Gawain and wanted to be treated with respect…and Lancelot does just that – he respects Squirrel and cares for him deeply,” she looked at the boy and cupped his cheek and smiled. Then she looked into Pym’s eyes, “He’s a broken lonely man, Pym” she shook her head in sadness, “And he is Fey… a very powerful one,” she finished quietly, feeling the sleep taking over, and looked towards the entrance of the tent just to catch a glimpse of a hooded figure sneaking out.

“That Lancelot sounds like a very special person,” Pym whispered and just held her hand.

“He is,” Nimue whispered with a drowsy smile as she fell asleep.


	7. Boys and men

[ ](https://sta.sh/011d5znipdmd)

Pym woke up with a good olde stretch. The sunbeams were poking through the various holes in the tent, the sea waves were gently rolling onto the beach, and the people outside were happily chattering. She was in a great mood this morning and had a feeling it was going to be a good day. She got her friend back after all!

She smiled and rolled to her side to watch Nimue and Squirrel across the tent. The boy was stirring, which meant there was a chance he would finally, after so many days, wake up!

And sure enough, the little boy sat up, his groggy eyes scanning the unknown surroundings. He looked at the sleeping woman and shook her arm but she just nestled deeper into the cloak they were covered with, mumbled something, and continued to sleep.

Pym remembered a hooded man sneaking in late at night. She was pretending to sleep so she could keep her eye on him. _Lancelot_. He took his cloak off and covered Nimue and Squirrel with it, then sat on the ground and kept vigil in the darkened tent. Her friend mentioned he was good with kids so she wasn’t surprised to see him gently touching the boy’s cheek and making sure he was tucked in. What she didn’t expect, was him tenderly removing some stray hair strand off sleeping Nimue’s face. Then he just sat there, crossed-legged, and watched them.

 _Or maybe I shouldn’t be surprised at all_ , it occurred to her now. The way Nimue was talking about that man, made Pym’s heart ache. It was the same way she thought about Dof – as a collection of little, seemingly unimportant to anyone else, details that made the person, not some grand overall picture. It’s just because they were talking about _the Weeping Monk_ , for crying out loud, she didn’t connect the dots.

That night she did. And that man, sitting on the ground, in the darkness, was a man who cared deeply.

But what about Arthur? Pym sighed. She knew Arthur was Nimue’s first crush that actually led to something more than humiliation. He was her first lover. He was by her side to aid her with anything and everything… But Pym hadn’t heard the woman talking about him the way she did about the Monk. On top of that, she noticed Arthur and Red Spear became quite inseparable in the past weeks. They often took long strolls along the shore. Whether they talked about the war plans or not, Pym didn’t know. What she noticed though, was the way Red Spear looked at him and how considering of her Arthur was. _Huh… Maybe the situation will resolve itself sooner rather than later_. Pym decided to keep a close eye on both couples.

“Nimue, wake up!” Pym was pulled out of her thoughts by Squirrel’s impatient voice. He was shaking Nimue’s arm quite aggressively this time, also unsuccessfully. That obviously made his back hurt because he groaned, lied down, and looked around angrily. He noticed her. “Pym! Pym! Wake up, you lazy banshee!” he whisper-screamed.

“I’m up, you little goblin,” she chuckled, seeing him being his usual self. “Now, be quiet, let Nim sleep,” that was a weak attempt at being stern with the boy.

“But I need to know where Lancelot is, that’s all,” the boy pouted.

“What makes you sure he’s here at all?” Pym asked curiously.

Squirrel looked at her with a blank face for a few moments. “Well. Pym. First of all, you didn’t even ask who Lancelot is, which means you know him, maybe even met him,” he was talking to her like one would talk to a not-so-bright child. “Second of all, how would his cloak be here if he wasn’t... _Pym?_ ” that little smartarse's tone was so condescending she was having a hard time staying serious.

“How do you know it’s his cloak?” she teased.

“It smells like him. Pym. It smells like Lancelot. Pym,” he narrowed his eyes at her. She looked at sleeping Nimue who was nuzzling deep into the cloak. Pym burst out laughing. Squirrel looked at her suspiciously, “You’re acting weird,” he said and shook his head.

Still giggling, she fondly looked at the boy and said, “Your Lancelot was here during the night, keeping vigil, but he was gone when I woke up. I’m sure he’s somewhere around the camp,” excited Squirrel started getting up from his bed, “But,” she gave him a pointed look, “before we go looking for him, I’m going to check the healing progress of your wound, young man.”

“Wound?” he sounded confused, “What wound?”

“The wound from a poisoned arrow that rendered you unconscious for eight days,” she explained.

“Wow,” he whispered, “Was I in a battle?” his eye grew huge.

“Yes. A very big, scary battle…and you won,” she winked at him. The boy smiled happily, rather proud of himself. That was clearly all he needed to know to proclaim himself a great hero.

It took only a few minutes to change the dressing on his back. Content with the progress, Pym said, getting up and walking towards the exit, “Let’s go and find that mysterious Lancelot of yours,” Squirrel bolted out of the tent as she looked back at sleeping Nimue. “I’m dying to meet him,” Pym murmured to herself and closed the tent flap behind.

Squirrel was hopping in between the groups of people having their first meal of the day, looking for the Monk. Pym was trying to keep up but the boy had so much pent-up energy, it was nearly impossible. There was cheering coming from people who knew him. They were genuinely happy to see him back in health again. She saw him finally stopping by a group she didn’t recognise. _It must be the Bertilak Sanctuary crowd_ , she thought to herself while approaching the people surrounding the boy, who clearly enjoyed the attention.

He was already in the middle of telling them how he had won a battle. The story even had some fantastical details, that made Pym smile. She looked around and was met with an awestruck face of a young man, who was gaping at her as if she was one of the Maidens of Avalon. She blushed and looked away, embarrassed. She had never elicited a reaction like that from anyone ever. _Maybe there’s something wrong with him?_ She thought distrustfully.

“Hector, where is Lancelot? I can’t find him anywhere,” Squirrel addressed the young man. _Hector_ , Pym memorised the name involuntarily.

Hector was still staring at her and blushing, not quite listening to the boy. “What?” he asked hazily.

“Lan-ce-lot, dummy! Where is he?” Pym rolled her eyes at Squirrel’s impudence and clipped him round the ear. “Ouch!” he whined, “You don’t treat a hero of one of the greatest battles like that!”

She stuck her tongue out. Everybody laughed.

That seemed to take Hector out of the peculiar state he’d been in. “Lancelot? Last time I saw him he was up on the dune with his horse,” he said, then blushed again, “Are you not going to introduce your friend, Percival?” he admonished the boy and looked shyly at Pym, who also felt the traitorous heat in her cheeks.

But Squirrel had no time for that, he just ran away. Pym followed but before she left, she said, “I’m Pym.”

She was met with a charming toothy smile, “I’m Hector.”

Pym spotted Squirrel sprinting towards a lone man standing atop of a grassy dune. Poor little thing tripped few times but finally managed to reach the man, who knelt and opened his arms to embrace the boy. The child wrapped his little arms around Lancelot’s neck and held him tightly for a long moment.

She looked back down at the beach to give them some privacy and saw every single face turned towards this odd duo. People were talking between themselves and pointing at them. The man had to notice the attention they were given because he rubbed Squirrel’s back and got up.

“It’s good to see you back in good form, Percival,” Lancelot greeted the boy solemnly, “You had me scared there,” he admitted, ruffling Squirrel’s hair.

That wasn’t what she expected the Weeping Monk – the scariest warrior in Britannia, to look like. He was tall and lean. He had a fine face surrounded by light brown wavy hair gathered in a bun. His eyes were just as Nimue described – intensely blue. The tear marks under the eyes surprisingly added to his attractiveness. His voice was calm and quiet. And, most of all, without the hood he wasn’t intimidating at all – just a gentle tall man with beautiful eyes.

The eyes that turned to her and their intensity startled her. _Fine, I stand corrected, he is intimidating_ , she corrected herself.

“You’re the healer,” he stated and greeted her with a slight nod.

“Um…yeah. So I was told,” Pym said dumbly. “I suppose, Squirrel still lives so that’s an achievement,” she mumbled, grimacing.

“It is indeed,” his eyes crinkled in a smile. _On Freyja’s cats, Nimue, how have you managed to stay away from this man?!_ She marveled.

“This is Pym. She’s Nimue’s best friend and despite Nimue trying to teach her about plants, Pym doesn’t know shit about healing,” Squirrel’s idea of introducing people was…well, very Squirrel. “And this is Lancelot. He is _my_ best friend and he destroyed a dozen Trinity Guard warriors by himself, injured,” the boy said proudly. “He also must be the most patient person in the world because he took all sorts of crap from Nimue during our journey, and didn’t try to murder her... not even once!” he finished in a theatrical whisper.

“Enough, boy,” was the infamous monk blushing? _Yes, yes he is_. Pym mentally squealed with joy.

“It is nice to meet you,” she waved to the man. “Now I’d better go and check on my other _victims_ ,” she grinned. She turned to leave but stopped half-way and said, “By the way, if you need your cloak, Lancelot, Nimue is still using it so you need to go to her to…you know… to retrieve what’s yours,” her tone was so suggestive, she was surprised that Lancelot’s hair didn’t catch fire off his burning face. _Oh boy, this is going to be fun_ , she cackled internally as she was walking back down the dune, humming contently.

* * *

Nimue refused to fully wake up. She felt warm and cozy, so she nestled deeper into the fabric she was covered with and inhaled deeply. It was a scent of a quiet evening by the fire under a fur throw. It was a scent of safety. Of danger too. Oh, how much she wanted to stay asleep wrapped in it forever. But she heard voices outside. It was time to get up and make plans for her people.

She opened her eyes just to meet Arthur’s. He was sitting on the ground next to the bed, watching her with a very thoughtful expression on his face. She smiled sleepily and her heart lurched at the wistful smile he sent her in returned.

“Good morning…I think?” she looked around drowsily and notice Squirrel was nowhere to be seen. She sat up quickly, still tightly wrapped in the Weeping Monk’s cloak. “Where is Squirrel? Have you seen him, Arthur?” she started panicking imagining the worst possible scenarios.

“Calm down, Nimue,” Arthur put his hand on her shoulder. “He woke up this morning. He is fine…” he smiled, amused, “…more than fine, judging by the excitement he caused when people saw him skipping around the beach.”

Nimue laughed happily but the smile morphed into a sad expression when she whispered, looking into the man’s eyes, “I was so scared for him,” she looked into the distance with her eyes welled up, “He was just lying there in Lancelot’s arms, unmoving and quiet…so unlike my Squirrel. It was terrifying. If not for Gawain, Morgana, and my father…” she shook her head. “I don’t know what we’d do without him,” she was sobbing quietly, remembering that horrible event.

Arthur took her in his arms, slowly rubbing her back, “Shh…he’s fine now. You don’t need to worry anymore,” he calmed her down. “Soon you’ll be wishing for him to be a bit quieter and less active,” they both laughed at that. She sniffled and wiped her eyes. 

“So…what’s been going on,” he looked into her eyes, “Really going on?”

They sat there for a while exchanging their misadventures. She avoided any details as she did not want to invite uncomfortable questions, that would eventually have to come.

And sure enough, Arthur said, “Nimue, we need to talk about the Monk. You know we do. For so many different reasons,” he whispered. They looked at each other for a short moment, then Arthur stood up and said briskly, “But, firstly, let’s find your little friend and get some food in you. Then we will take a long walk so we can talk things out,” he stood by the exit and smiled.

Nimue felt ungrateful and extremely guilty for having thoughts about another man. What was she thinking?! Arthur was a wonderful man, a great leader, and a loyal companion. _Damn you, Kaze, for putting doubts in my head!_ she admonished her friend. She nodded, got up, and unwrapped herself from the cloak. She folded and put it gently on the bed. It was time to tackle whatever was coming her way.

She marched out of the tent with Arthur following her. She was determined not to pollute her mind with the Monk for now… and her eyes immediately met his as he walked towards the very tent she’d left.

He slowed down, hesitated, then nodded and averted her gaze as he was walking past her.

Nimue frowned and looked back at him and noticed Arthur giving him a condescending look, "You left your cape inside, Monk," and shoved Lancelot with his shoulder when the man was passing him.

So that was the Monk's cloak she slept under! She quickly turned around, embarrassed that Arthur noticed, and walked away towards where she could hear the beloved voice of Squirrel. Oh, how she wanted to hug him!

The day was glorious. The sun was already high in the sky bringing pleasant warmth spring afternoon. They had walked away from the camp far enough not to be able to hear the chatter of the crowd. They didn’t talk till when Arthur sat down on a piece of driftwood and looked up at her.

“You look like you lost your feisty and brave spark today,” he smiled. He was playing with a shell he picked up from the sand under his feet.

“I’m just scared. I don’t know what to do,” she felt completely lost. “I don’t have any experience in leading and I’m afraid people see it,” she sat down next to him, “What will await us in the Desert Kingdoms?” she said and then frowned, remembering another friend’s words, “Although Gawain was adamant we won’t go there for some reason.”

Arthur raised eyebrows at that. “Oh? And why is that?”

“He didn’t say,” she shrugged. “All he said was that someone called the Fire Bearer will lead us to a win in a battle and bring our people to safety,” she shook the head and slid down from the driftwood onto the sand.

“Hm, any ideas?” asked Arthur thoughtfully.

“Nope,” Nimue suddenly remembered something. “But Kaze may know something. She looked quite coy when I asked her whether she knew anything about that Fire Bearer,” she didn’t tell all the truth but she wasn’t ready to mention the name of the very man they came here to talk about.

But then, after a few quiet minutes, unprompted, she spilled everything out. Every detail of her journey from the Lepers’ Kingdom to North Beach. Everything about the Monk, maybe with an exception of _the_ _Waterfall Incident_ , as she called it.

Arthur was nodding slowly, deep in thought, watching her. After a long pause in the conversation, he said, “Nimue…” he took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

“I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what’s going on,” Nimue whispered “I don’t know myself when I’m…” she couldn't finish.

“When you’re around the certain monk?” inquired Arthur.

She nodded barely noticeably, “Maybe we are somehow connected because we are alike…”

He interrupted her, “You’re nothing like that creature, Nimue!” he scoffed.

She pivoted herself to face Arthur and said with a very confident voice, “We were both thought to be cursed by our people and ostracised because of that. We both carry scars on our backs. Scars that run much deeper than what’s visible. We both experienced excruciating loneliness. We both were conditioned to think about ourselves in certain ways…” here she hesitated, “… we are both Fey,” she whispered.

Arthur just looked at her.

“I’m not saying that means anything but because of all that I feel drawn to him, connected somehow,” she said and then brightened up just a bit, “Possibly the _connected_ part may have something to do with the fact that we both love Squirrel so very much and if shove came to push, we’d laid our lives for that little rascal without a moment if hesitation,” she smiled tenderly.

“Ah, that,” he said rubbing his chin, “We all saw their greeting this morning. I must say, it was quite an unforgettable event. I didn’t expect such a tough guy melting like candle wax in the arms of a child,” he shook his head. She smiled. They sat there without talking for another while.

“What about us then?” Arthur looked sadly into her eyes and held her hand, “What does it mean for what we had?”

She looked at him with pleading eyes and attempted to assure him, “Arthur, I’m sure it’s just…”

“It’s not, Nimue,” he said sadly and squeezed her hand, “It may be something or it may not but I cannot wait for you, gods know, how long until you decide. It’s not fair to you and it’s not fair to me. I know we had something special and I will cherish those memories till the day I die. But I cannot be with you, always wondering whether you’re longing for another,” he took both of her hands into his and squeezed them gently, “And most of all, I don’t want you to be with me because you’re afraid you’ll end up alone.”

“That’s not why…” she protested, tearing up. She remembered Kaze saying something very similar so knew there must be some truth to it.

“I know, Nimue, I know,” he kissed her knuckles, “But you cannot settle for me only because you’re not sure about feelings for someone else or their feelings for you for that matter,” he said quietly. “And I must say, maybe we wouldn’t work anyway as I don’t get everything about the Fey magic-world-thingy,” dearest Arthur was waving his hand, trying to diffuse the atmosphere. She chuckled through tears that were rolling down her face.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur,” now she was openly sobbing. He sat down on the sand next to Nimue and took her in his arms and rocked her gently. Like all of it wasn’t her fault! Like it was she who needed consolation!

They stayed like that for a long time. Not lovers anymore but still loving each other in many ways.

“So…how are you planning to woo the broody Monk?” Arthur joked after all the tears had dried and only exhaustion was left behind.

“I’m not _wooing_ anyone, you silly,” she smacked his arm. They were sitting next to each other, her head on his shoulder.

Arthur chuckled, “Maybe sing a song…it sure worked for me,” he smiled sardonically looking at the horizon.

Nimue snorted and looked at him sternly, “If I was to judge your attractiveness based on your singing, I’d be running away faster than my horse could gallop,” she smiled gently and kissed him on the cheek. He burst out laughing.

“Then what are you going to do?” he was genuinely curious.

“Absolutely nothing,” she shrugged and rested her chin on her bent knees, “As you heard and saw, he cannot wait to leave and the only thing keeping him here is Squirrel,” she said gloomily. Only silence answered her. She looked at Arthur, who was staring at her blankly. “What?” she asked confused.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose with fingers, sighing, “I can’t believe I’m going to side with that Weeping Freak,” he muttered to himself, “As awful of a person I think he is, he’s a warrior, a knight of sorts, and he is sworn to honour given promises and since _you_ made him promise to leave, he has to do so after his mission is completed,” he shrugged.

"Oh," she sat still for a few minutes gobsmacked, then said, “That makes sense.”

“Thank you for acknowledging my wisdom, my Queen,” Arthur chuckled.

Nimue laughed and looked at him warmly, “You’re such a charmer, Arthur.”

“Oh, milady, my charm is famous throughout Britannia, everybody knows it!” he puffed up his chest proudly.

“Yeah, I’m sure everybody does,” she grinned, “Especially one pretty Viking,” she said innocently. The sight of mortified Arthur was priceless.

She was still cackling when they walked back to the camp.


	8. New Plan

##  [ ](https://sta.sh/01bhsro1hv7s)

Merlin arrived at the camp in the late afternoon and was pleased to learn two things: the Fey boy was back in action and the Monk was here, unharmed, which boded well for his plans.

He thought about Lancelot. He liked that man. He was broken and lost but had a good heart and a need to share it, hence his attachment to Percival. The young man had a lot to work through, a lot of darkness in him that would probably stay forever but once he learned how to keep said darkness under control, his life would become much easier. The Monk also had a pivotal role in his plans and for the events to come so it was vital he would stay on good terms with others. _Like Nimue_ , Merlin grimaced. She was, like her father, occasionally pig-headed, foolishly proud, and not willing to compromise. That was why he was relieved to see the Ash man here, with others, sitting around the fire with the people from the sanctuary.

Percival noticed him first, “Look who decided to show up! The old man with his stick,” the cheeky little bugger made everyone laugh, _the old man_ included.

“I’m happy to see you too, Sir Percival,” Merlin winked at the boy. “Kaze,” he respectfully nodded to the Bexare woman. He approached the Monk and patted him on the back. “It’s good to see you here, son,” he said loud enough for people in other groups to look at them. The whispers of Merlin – the Magician, coming back, and siding with the Weeping Monk would spread around the camp in no time. His hand stayed on the younger man’s shoulder.

Lancelot raised an eyebrow, “Welcome back, Merlin. Where did you disappear off to?” he said kindly, getting up to shake the older man’s hand.

“Oh, I had to look into some things further up north but we will talk about more once we gather the leaders, elders, and our Fey Queen,” Merlin looked around, searching for Nimue that was nowhere to be seen. “Speaking of whom, where is my daughter?” he asked Lancelot, having a feeling the young man would know exactly where she had gone. But the only answer he got was a shrug and a grim look on the younger man's face. “Well, never mind that. We have some time to catch up then,” the sorcerer sat down, the Monk followed and they exchange the news of past week.

After a while, Merlin noticed Nimue and a man called Arthur, from what he remembered, walking towards the camp. He glanced at the man beside him – he was looking intently at the sand, lips pressed tightly together. _Nimue, what are you doing to this poor lad?_ the sorcerer thought and shook his head.

His daughter and her companion seemed to be in a really good mood, care-free, and bare-foot. He was happy Nimue found a moment to enjoy herself and not worry about everything at all times. He was also happy to see her joy at seeing him. _For once somebody’s glad to have me around_ , he chuckled to himself and hugged her.

At nightfall, Merlin gathered the clans’ elders and Viking leaders around the fire. Nimue sat next to Kaze, Arthur, and Red Spear sat amongst the Vikings, the clans’ elders were scattered in between the Fey and the Humans. Lancelot wasn’t present in this group but he was sitting mere ten yards away, together with Hector, Pym, Percival, and few other kids around the boy’s age. Merlin was slowly pacing around the parameter, deep in thought.

“So,” Merlin started loud enough for the Monk to hear, “We need a new plan, because the one we had won’t work for obvious reasons – the ships we were supposed to sail away on, are gone... So I went to the north in the hope of finding new allies with ships that would take us away from this place. Sadly, with no luck. So… it looks like we are stranded _and_ exposed because it’s a matter of time until the Church and Uther will find out about our camp... So I came up with a new plan. A way better plan, may I add,” he announced proudly, “A plan that would…”

“Why would we follow you, Magician?” one of the Snakeskin elders stood up and looked at him with contempt, “You’re no better than the Weeping Monk,” he spat on the sand, “You don't care for us and would sell us out for a coin...or wine. And he's been slaughtering his own kind for years so he's not to be trusted either"

“I merely want to present you with a proposal of the plan. It will be up to you to decide. Not me, not Lancelot. So please, just listen. And then, if you have a better plan of action, by all means, enlighten us,” he couldn’t keep the sarcastic note from his voice. _It is easy to piss and moan, but when the time comes, nobody takes the reigns_ , he grumbled internally.

“What’s the grand plan then, Merlin?” Arthur said sardonically.

The sorcerer bowed his head toward the younger man, pretending he didn't notice the disrespectful tone of his voice, and said, “Instead of trying to find ships that would take us to the Desert Kingdoms, where the Fey would inevitably perish, not having trees, lakes, caves, and so on,” he pointedly looked at everyone, letting the level of the irrationality of that plan sink in. Even humans looked embarrassed for not thinking about the obvious, “We’ll go south, to the lands of Gallia!” he was waiting for the explosion of excitement… or any reaction. Nothing. Everybody just looked blankly at him.

“Won’t we need... you know... _ships_ to get there, oh wise Merlin?” mocked Red Spear. Nimue snorted, Arthur got sudden cough attack and Kaze just outright laughed.

“Yes! Yes, we will!” the sorcerer happily answered, ignoring the ungrateful brats.

“So, how is this plan better than the other one exactly?” Arthur narrowed his eyes and stroked his chin.

“Well…” Merlin rubbed his hands and chuckled, “Lancelot will send a message to his people and they will come here with their ships!” 

The stunned silence that met the announcement was enough of an answer. Merlin sighed. That wasn’t the reaction he expected. He assumed there would be a lot of questions or shouting but not that everybody’s heads would turn to see the Monk’s reaction to the revelations instead. And even that was disheartening as Lancelot was too busy entertaining his group to pay any attention to his words.

He was sitting on a log, his hood down now, a little girl sitting on his lap, her little hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Percival was leaning onto him, three other boys and two girls were sitting on the sand in front of the man, along with Hector and Pym. All – enthralled in whatever tale the Monk was serving them quietly.

The sorcerer rolled his eyes and looked to his daughter for support but Nimue was too hypnotised by the sight of the Monk surrounded and adored by the children. She had the gentlest of smiles on her face and her eyes were shining. He discreetly looked at Arthur and saw him looking at Nimue and smiling. _Odd_ , the sorcerer thought and shrugged. There was no time now for trying to figure out his daughter’s love life.

“Lancelot!” Merlin raised his voice. Nothing. “Oi! Monk!” he shouted, startling everyone. Lancelot stopped talking, to the disappointment of the kids, stood up and walked towards the council, putting his hood back on. The kids, Hector and Pym followed him and sat around the fire. The Monk stopped, clenched his hands in front together, and just waited, looking at the fire.

“Since you were too busy playing a nursemaid,” the sorcerer gave him a disapproving look. Lancelot didn’t seem to find it funny. Merlin continued, “I will reiterate the new plan, my boy… We are going to Gallia and I need you to send a message to your clan and ask them to send some ships.”

The Monk’s hooded head turned sharply towards Merlin at that. He looked at him for a long time and said, “No,” his voice trembled, “I can’t."

“Do you remember what we talked about back at the Sanctuary?” Merlin gently reminded him, “This is it, my boy. This is your path, your destiny,” he put his hand on Lancelot’s shoulder but the younger man shrugged it off.

He was breathing heavily, his eyes were glassy when he said through his teeth, “Destiny?” he took one step closer towards the sorcerer, “You’re talking to me about DESTINY!?” he bellowed and started pacing like a trapped animal. Everyone looked alarmed by his erratic behaviour. “Do you know what _destiny_ means to me, Magician?” he said quietly with venom, “It means being thrown out of the safety of land that protected me for years. It means to be left on a shore to fend for myself and my brother and being told that what was to come next was my _destiny_ and I couldn’t avoid it, that I shouldn’t _want_ to avoid it” she spat out bitterly. Then he spread his arms wide and said, “So here I am – the product of your precious _destiny_ ,” he looked sadly at Merlin and stomped away into the darkness of the beach.

Everyone was silent. Nobody dared to do as much as to breathe. Except for Nimue, who got up and ran after Lancelot. Merlin’s eyes followed the young man. _Oh Viviane, how could you?_ he thought to himself sadly and sat down on the sand.

* * *

Lancelot was shaking. He couldn’t breathe. An over decade-old pain came back with double force. Once away from anyone’s sight, he dropped to his knees and sobbed like he hadn’t in years.

Suddenly he felt two gentle hands on his shoulders. He could recognise her scent everywhere. He lowered his head and closed his eyes. Her hands moved to his neck and into his hair.

“Lancelot…” she whispered.

“Please…don’t” he sobbed. She didn’t say anything more, just knelt behind him and rested her cheek on his back, her hands circled around his torso to rest on his chest. He covered her hands with his and held onto them for dear life. They stayed like that for a long time, being gently lulled by the sound of the waves.

Eventually, he calmed down and said, “I can’t, Nimue, I’m sorry… I can’t go back there…” he desperately wanted her to understand, even if he wasn’t able to explain anything.

“It’s alright,” she whispered as her thumb gently caressed his, “You don’t need to say anything,” she pressed her lips to his back. He was silent until she said. “You don’t have to do anything. We will find a way to get to safety somehow.”

“But I should do something,” he frowned, “Every single life I took is a debt I will never be able to repay but I will have to try anyway.”

“That’s true,” she agreed, “But every single life you save from now on will be that much more precious,” she whispered. He didn’t have any response to that. He remembered Kaze’s words about having a second chance and atoning by serving his people.

He turned around to look into her face and saw tears and stars reflected in her beautiful eyes, looking at him with the tenderness he’d seen only on his mother’s face before. She cared. She cared for him! _Impossible!_ his mind couldn’t comprehend it.

They looked into each others’ eyes for what seemed to be millennia, then slowly closed the distance between them, sounds were drowned in his thundering heartbeat. He felt elation as her gently encouraging smile ripped through his very being…

“There you are!” Percival’s voice got to them as their lips were mere breath away from touching.

Nimue jumped away from him as if suddenly taken out of a trance. “Squirrel! What’s going on?” she asked conversationally, getting up.

“Shouldn’t I be asking that question?” the boy looked between them suspiciously.

Nimue shook her skirt to get rid of the sand. She avoided Lancelot’s eyes. Was she ashamed of what almost just happened? Most likely _. Arthur surely wouldn’t be happy about that_ , he reminded himself bitterly.

He needed a moment to himself, to collect his thought and make decisions. “You two go ahead. I just need a moment here,” he also avoided her gaze.

Percival, oblivious to everything that had just transpired, said cheerfully, “Take your time, Lancelot! Just don’t mope around for too long, you big softy,” the boy even dared to ruffle his hair! Nimue burst out laughing and ran after Percival back to the camp.

He was left behind, kneeling in the sand and being faced by the most vital decision in his life.

* * *

When Nimue rejoined the council and reassured Merlin that the Monk would be back soon, she sat down and fell into a reverie. Lancelot’s despair tugged at her heartstrings and she wanted nothing more than see him finally at peace. Maybe by facing his past, whatever that may be, he would start healing. Whatever that was that made him feel unwanted and unworthy, needed to be addressed. _Maybe if he confined in someone…_ she knew it would take time. She was willing to wait for him. To fight for him. They nearly kissed after all and that surely meant he wasn’t indifferent to her. Right? A little flicker of hope began warming her from the inside. 

She was pulled out of her contemplation Merlin asking impatiently, “Nimue, did he say he’d do it?”

“He didn’t say. He needed more time,” she wasn’t willing to share the conversation they had. “Why can’t you just send the message yourself? Surely if they, whoever they are, are allies they will help us with or without Lancelot’s involvement,” Nimue was trying to reason with Merlin.

“Umm…” he squinted his eyes, crinkled his nose, and grimaced, “Not exactly, my dear. You see, the Ash Folk hold no love for some other clans…”

"The Weeping Monk is a Fey?!" Arthur exclaimed.

His question was ignored as awestruck Red Spear interrupted “Ash Folk? I thought they were not real! All the stories about this fairy clan forging the most powerful weapons for rulers of the world and fighting like Berserkers, always sounded a bit too good to be true to me.”

“Well, most of the stories are true actually,” Merlin admitted. Everyone present waited to hear more. There were people outside the Council gathering around to listen to the sorcerer’s revelations. _Now I have your full attention_ , he thought hearing the gasps that followed his admission.

He delved into the story, “They were thought to be the most powerful amongst all the Fey. They were brave and just people as well as fearless warriors, whose fighting skills were legendary. All that, unfortunately, hadn’t sat well with some, so few other clans plotted againste them and stole the Fey Fire away from the land of the Ash Folk,” he said sadly “And all Fey know, what happens when the fire is gone from your land,” he looked around to see people nodding.

“What happens when the Fire is gone?” asked Squirrel, too young to know the complicated sides of being Fey.

“You cannot commune with nature anymore and you lose your connection to the Hidden. You may as well call yourself _human_ ” Merlin explained to the children, who looked at him horrified.

“How could they even think about doing such a horrible thing to another Fey? It’s worse than death!” angry Squirrel’s stood up and clenched his fists. Others murmured in agreement. “Who did this to them?”

Merlin smiled at the boy woefully when he said, “It was Sky Folk with the support of the Snakeskins and the Tusks.”

Nimue paled and her stomach dropped. Her people were responsible for the destruction of an entire clans’ magic? She couldn’t comprehend how the Sky Folk would be capable of such cruelty! She closed her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath.

“Worry not, my daughter,” Merlin walked up to her and kissed the top of her head. “There is a… sort of… happing ending to it,” he smiled.

She looked up at him hopefully and said, “Sort of?”

Her father nodded and started pacing. “The Ash Folk, despite losing their magic, had continued on with their traditions and customs for more than three hundred years, till this very day. Each one of them also receives at birth a silver pin that would identify them as an Ash.”

“How is this a happy ending?” Arthur narrowed his eyes at the older man.

“Here’s the thing. They waited and hoped… and one day, for the first time in centuries, clan markings appeared on a little Ash boy’s face…” Merlin looked at stunned Hector and smiled.

Nimue whispered, “Lancelot. The boy was Lancelot.”

Her father didn’t say anything for a few minutes, letting the stunned silence slowly turn into whispers and murmurs.

“That’s all good and well but what does the appearance of the markings on Lancelot’s face have to do with him writing letters?” Squirrel asked, crinkling his nose in confusion.

“Oh, nothing,” Merlin said lightly. “It was just a side note for a dramatic effect,” he chuckled. Nimue rolled her eyes. Kaze snorted. Arthur shook his head.

“The idea behind my plan is,” the sorcerer was back on track, “to have Lancelot use his pin as a signature on the message. The Ash Folk wouldn’t leave one of theirs stranded on the enemy’s land so they will send ships if Lancelot requests them. No questions asked,” Merlin shrugged. “This is the way of the Ash.”

“Or, most likely, they will not show up at all,” said a voice in the back of the crowd. People immediately parted to show the Monk. Something was magnetising about the way he was speaking so softly yet confidentially, standing nonchalantly posed, resting both hands on the hilt of his sword. Only part of his face was visible from underneath the hood. Everyone was just staring, realising that they are looking at a real Ash man. _A very impressive Ash man at that_ , thought Nimue and felt her cheeks heating up. He, as if reading her mind, looked at her from underneath the hood.

Nimue stood up quickly and folded her arms. She needed to focus! She chewed on her lip for a while wondering what their next step should be. She didn’t want to force Lancelot to do anything against his will but she knew that he was the only hope they had. She looked at him, worried.

His face softened, he nodded once and said, “But I’ll do it.” People collectively exhaled. Nimue covered her mouth to prevent a yelp of surprise from coming out. Merlin looked like he needed a drink.

“But,” Lancelot continued in a stern voice. Everybody froze. “I don’t take any responsibility for their reaction to either me being alive or the news that the Sky Folk are trying to get onto their ships. Is that understood?” he looked around to make sure everyone got it. Everyone did get it.

“Nothing like that will happen, my boy,” Merlin said cheerfully.

The Monk raised his eyebrows slightly. “How do you know?” he sounded skeptical.

“Because we have the greatest gift the Ash Folk, or indeed any Fey clan, could ever receive,” the sorcerer smiled devilishly and paused for the effect, “We will bring them the Fire Bearer!”

At that, confused murmurs erupted as everyone was looking around for a clue. Nimue had enough. She threw her arms up in defeat. “Care to share who that mysterious Fire Bearer I’ve been hearing about so much is, father?”

“Uh duh! It’s Lancelot!” Squirrel was looking at her like she’d lost her mind. He got up off the sand and stood next to the Monk. The admiration the boy was looking at the man with, made her heart soar with pride and love for the child. She couldn’t hope for a better…Her mind suddenly registered Squirrel’s words and went blank.

“Excuse me?” she was positively gaping.

Squirrel took this opportunity to shine and told everyone about the event that took place in the Bertilak Sanctuary. That impressed even the most skeptical humans. That impressed _even_ Arthur and Red Spear, who joined Nimue in gaping.

“That’s enough,” Lancelot said irritated with all the unwanted attention. “Sooner we send the message the better. You’ll get your reply refusing to help so you’ll stop hoping for the impossible,” he looked at the sorcerer, “What do you want me to do, Merlin?”

“I need your pin and I need you to write the letter,” Merlin said in a no-nonsense tone, already looking for a piece of parchment in his satchel.

Lancelot slid his hands through the armholes of his sleeveless tunic and reached to the centre, where the Christian cross adorned the tunic on his chest. Moments later he retrieved the pin not much bigger than a silver penny. He looked at it for a while, turning it in his fingers.

“Here,” Merlin said pointing at a log on which the writing tools were set up.

“You can write, Lancelot?” Squirrel’s eyes were huge and filled wonder. It looked like, somehow, his admiration for the Monk managed to grow even more. The man nodded and smiled at the boy. “Will you teach me?” the child asked shyly.

“Of course I will,” the man agreed without a moment of hesitation. Nimue smiled softly.

After agreeing on the numbers of people needing to get onto the ships, Lancelot wrote a short letter addressed to the Ash clan’s elders. Then he shoved his pin into hot the ashes in the fire pit and impressed it on the parchment, leaving a perfect imprint of a tree. 

He took a deep breath and exhaled very slowly, then said quietly, “Done.”

The sorcerer wasted no time. The moment the ink was dry, he rolled up the little scroll, tied it with a thin leather strap, and gave it to Yeva – a Moonwing elder, who had her trusty falcon with her. She attached the message to the bird, whispered something to the animal, and let it fly.

“She’ll be back in the morning,” Yeva said simply and walked away.

Lancelot got up and also left without looking back. Nimue looked sadly after him. It was an emotionally draining evening for him and being in the centre of attention was something he did not enjoy. On top of everything, there was probably the fear that no reply and help would come proving to him he was unwanted by his own clan. She vowed there and then to make sure he would have a clan he could belong to – hers.

* * *

Lancelot was afraid of what the morning would bring. He would survive being rejected by his family, as he had on more than one occasion before. He knew a lot about withstanding any type of humiliation, both physical and psychological, thanks to Father Carden and his monks. Unfortunately, the seed of hope that he could belong somewhere was already planted deep within his heart and it was terrifying to think that he might not have a place in the world after all.

 _At least it looks like Nimue cannot get rid of me just yet_ , he thought while walking towards a driftwood root where he’d slept the previous night. It was large enough to protect him from prying eyes but close enough he could hear the life bustling in the camp. He took his cloak off and lied down.

Suddenly he heard sand being shuffled by nearing footsteps and a body slumping next to him. Surprised, he turned around to see Percival readying himself to sleep.

“What?” the sleepy boy said with a grumpy voice.

The man just shook his head and said, “Goodnight, Percy.” He rolled over onto his other side. He was lying behind the child to protect him from the night breeze and covered them both with his cloak.

“You made Nimue very sad when you left without a word,” Percival said sleepily out of nowhere. “Just don’t do it again. She really likes you,” and he was asleep.

Unlike Lancelot, who knew at that moment, there would be no sleep for him.

The morning came. Yeva’s falcon didn’t return at all. That was all Lancelot needed to know.

He avoided everyone but Percival for the next two days. He couldn’t bare Nimue’s sad, understanding looks she was giving him when they looked at each other from a distance. He didn’t want Merlin, Kaze, or even Hector to see how much it hurt him. He didn’t want any pity or mockery from Arthur or Red Spear either. Little Percival seemed to understand and didn’t ask any questions. He was just there and his surprisingly quiet presence was soothing.

On the third day, at noon, excited voices sounded throughout the camp, “SHIPS! THE SHIPS ARE COMING!” a man yelled from atop a dune.

Lancelot and Percival climbed the dune to take a better look. And what a sight that was!

Two majestic galleons, flanked by six longships were soaring through the waves with their sails fully up, Fire Tree symbols stretched across them all.

“It looks like you’re going home, Lancelot,” the little boy said quietly, took his hand, and pretended he didn’t see the tears rolling down the man’s cheeks.


	9. Farewell

[ ](https://sta.sh/028w3bm0vo36)

Lancelot wasn’t ready to meet his Folk yet. Lancelot needed more time to process. Lancelot…

“Are you hiding, Lancelot?” Percival found him sitting against the cliff wall behind the healers’ tent. The man would never admit he was afraid… or hiding.

“No, I’m just contemplating the future, my boy,” Lancelot said with a calm voice.

The boy rolled his eyes and said, “You can contemplate all you want on the ship, you know. Now it is time to make the _future_ happen instead of thinking about it,” he hooked his little arm under Lancelot's and tried to pull him up. That didn’t work so he squatted in front of the man, put his hands atop his, and said solemnly, “Come on, it’s been hours since they’ve arrived. They’ll be looking for you soon. I’ll be with you all the way, I promise. And if anyone will try to harm you, Nimue will crush them with her magic vines,” Percival seemed to enjoy that particular idea very much. “Besides, the tents are being taken down so you’ll just look stupid if they find you, sitting here. _Hiding_ ,” he looked at the man pointedly.

As he said that, the very healers’ tent Lancelot was tucked behind, got the fabric pulled down and Pym and Hector appeared. They looked at the duo blankly. The Monk thought it was a great opportunity to delay the inevitable so he got up and offered Pym his help.

“Well played,” Percival murmured when passing by him and joined them.

When the fabric was down and the construction frame dismantled, they loaded everything onto a cart that would go with those staying in Britannia.

Not everyone was going. Most of the Vikings and the Fey fighters would stay for now. Sadly, Kaze was staying too but she promised to take good care of Goliath until he’d get back. Lancelot felt honoured to have a friend in this loyal and brave Bexare and would like to have her at his side when they arrived in Gallia but he knew he shouldn’t be selfish. She was a warrior, she was to stay in Britannia to fight for her home.

All the sick, not fully able-bodied, the old, and the children with their parents would go. As well as the Fey Queen, the clans’ elders, Lancelot, Percival, Pym along with few other healers, Hector, Merlin, Arthur, Red Spear, and some of her people.

When they all had been watching the ships approaching the shallows earlier on, Red Spear said she wanted to see the land of the mighty warriors with her own eyes. The Monk mentioned that they were farmers now but she just scoffed at him. She was so excited, he didn’t have the heart to shatter her dream any further. When he looked towards Arthur, trying to warn him about the oncoming disappointment, he noticed the man smiling warmly at the Viking.

Lancelot frowned at that, feeling anger rising at Arthur, and looked to Nimue, who was watching the spectacle on the sea with a happy smile, completely oblivious to what was going on right under her nose. _Somebody needs to beat some sense into this man_ , he glared at the Brit. He decided that once they get to the other side of the sea, he’d have a word with the fool.

“Lancelot, there you are, my boy! Care to join us on the shore?” Merlin said, walking towards the Monk who was still helping out with Pym’s equipment. The sorcerer was accompanied by Nimue, who looked excited and happy. Lancelot’s heart melted at that sight. She deserved at least that bit of happiness in her life now, after what she’d been through.

“I shouldn’t be showing my face until we arrive at the shores of Gennewis,” he said quietly.

“Why is that?” Nimue asked surprised. “You’re one of them! Besides they will want to know whose pin that was.”

“Nimue,” he said softly and noticed the faintest blush rose on her cheeks at him saying her name. He stuttered at that and then thought about the foolish man that was so close to her and didn’t seem to appreciate what he had within his grasps. _If it was he who…_ he shook his head to rid it of the wishful thinking. “If they find out now, they may kill me on sight and then leave you stranded here,” he tried to reason with her. “But if they were to find out once we crossed the sea, they wouldn’t just take you back to Britannia so you should be able to stay there.”

She paled and was clearly worried about her people’s wellbeing…like a true Queen she was. She closed the distance between them and put her hand on his crossed arms, “Why would they want to kill you?” she frowned, looking into his eyes.

“Because I left being accused of murdering my parents,” when he said it, Nimue took a step back, as if she got burnt. Maybe he shouldn’t be that blunt but there was no time for diplomacy. Besides the woman already knew he was a monster. What’s one more sin added to the never-ending list of his evil deeds?

“Did…did you?” she asked with a shaky, unsure voice. His stomach dropped at that. That hurt. Really hurt. Her considering that perhaps he was capable of killing his own mother and father hurt more than any wounds inflicted by Father Carden.

So he just stood there, his face a pale and emotionless mask, and just looked at her for the longest time, all his hope for…he didn’t know what he was hoping for… evaporated with this one short question, _Did you?_ He would always be just an assassin and a demon to her and her people.

He decided to make it easier for her. He straightened up and looked her dead in the eye and said arrogantly, “And what if I did, witch?”

Lancelot could see all the light she was carrying in her eyes, shattered into million pieces, leaving only the darkness behind. She just looked at him speechlessly, her eyes pleading, begging him to say something more, to explain, to deny. But he didn’t. He was too proud for that.

Eventually, she also straightened up, gathering all her dignity, and said bitterly, “Well, that would surprise no one,” and walked away.

He didn’t want to humiliate himself any further in front of the spectators by giving in to the pain he felt, so he put his hood up and walked away in opposite direction to Nimue’s.

* * *

Merlin was trying to comprehend what he had just witnessed. But, for the first in a very long time, no explanation came to his mind. So he looked to Lancelot’s brother for help but he seemed to be as astonished as himself. Even little Squirrel…Percival…whatever his name now was, looked confused and was just looking between the two adults getting further away from each other, probably trying to decide which one he should follow.

“What has just happened?” the boy asked, scratching his head in bewilderment.

“I’m not sure, Percival, I'm not sure at all... but we need to hurry. Bors said we need to be gone by sundown. They saw the Paladin scouts and he’s sure we could have a company by the morning so we better be gone by then,” Merlin said while grabbing one of Pym’s crates.

“Bors? Who is that?” Hector's voice sounded alarmed.

“He the captain of one of the two galleons. The other ship is captained by his brother, Lionel,” the sorcerer informed him lightly but then saw the paled and shocked face of the young man, who staggered and sat on a crate. “Who are they, Hector?” Merlin started to worry now.

“They’re our cousins who ratted Lancelot out to the Red Paladins,” his voice trembled. Pym gasped. _Hector must’ve told her about Lancelot’s past_ , Merlin was glad the young man had someone he could trust.

“Well, that complicates things,” the older man stroke his chin. “We will need to conceal not only Lancelot but you too, Hector, until we are safely in Gennewis.”

“I have some fabric here,” offered Pym. “We may make few hooded capes and ask some of the people to wear them so it’s not too suspicious to see only two of us having the hoods up.”

“Good thinking!” Merlin praised her, smiling.

“You’re a genius, Pym!" Hector looked like he was about to drop to his knees and start praying to the woman. “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to the Fey, you’re simply…”

“Aren’t you a bit overdramatic, Hector?” disgusted Percival asked, shaking his head. Pym blushed. Hector’s face nearly caught fire. Merlin chuckled.

* * *

Nimue couldn’t believe what she had said to the Monk. She didn’t know the story behind his parents’ murder but she didn’t believe for a moment he would be capable of such heinous deed. But she wanted to hurt him. Like he hurt her when he called her _witch_. That clearly signaled what he really thought of her. She wanted nothing more than just run away from the crowd and find a spot where she could lick her wounds. But then she looked around at the excited people, loading their meager possessions onto the longships waiting along the shoreline. She needed to be strong. She needed to show them she’s a capable leader – their queen. So she closed her eyes, centered herself and pushed all thoughts of the Monk to the back of her mind.

She walked up to Bors – the leader of this mission, and asked, “How will we allocate my people, Bors?” She was genuinely curious about how the mechanics of this type of journey worked. She’s never been on the sea-sailing ship before.

The man seemed to understand it, when he said kindly, “We need to separate the leaders. That way, if one of the ships sinks, there are some leaders left alive… to lead, you know,” he chuckled and winked at her.

She felt a blush creeping up her face. He was a charming and handsome man. He wore his dark hair in a bun and his eyes were as blue as Lancelot’s… _Stop it, you silly goose!_ She scolded herself.

“Oh, and depending on the number of healers you have, it would be good to have one on each of the ships,” he informed her further. “Also, you, Your Highness,” he bowed his head respectfully, “will come on my ship as we will be docking first and it should be you who meet my mother first,” he burst out laughing seeing her shocked face. “No, no, no! I didn’t mean _that_ way,” he couldn’t stop laughing. Assured Nimue giggled. “My mother – Lady Evaine, is a leader of our clan and she will be welcoming us personally. So fret not, Your Highness…”

“It’s Nimue, not any kind of _Highness_ ,” she smiled warmly. He bowed again with a wide smile. A pretty smile too, just like… _Stop it!_ She internally squirmed.

Soon they were joined by Merlin and Squirrel. The boy was thrilled about the new adventure and was looking around at everything greedily like he wanted to memorise all details of the Ash men and their ships.

He watched Bors for a while. The man raised his eyebrows and asked, “Is there anything you would like to know, young man?”

“It’s Sir Percival actually. I was knighted by the Green Knight and then Lan…”

“Thank you, Sir Percival,” Merlin smiled nervously at the Ash man. Nimue narrowed her eyes. What was her father up to? She didn’t want him to meddle and mess things up. “Should we decide who goes on what ship now? You need to choose your crew, my dear,” he looked at her with huge eyes. _Something is up_ , she decided.

“Who’s that?” Bors interjected, looking suspiciously at a hooded figure coming towards them. Nimue remembered what Lancelot said about not being recognised and her palms suddenly got very sweaty. She wasn’t great at lying.

Squirrel cheerfully answered, “Oh, that’s my best friend Lan…”

“Let’s do it then, father!” Nimue knew she sounded almost too excited about the mundane prospect of choosing people to go on the ship with her. “And you, _Sir Percival,_ go find Pym and Hec…”

“They're already here, Nimue, all packed up and ready to go,” Merlin interrupted her this time with a raised voice, “They asked for permission to sail on one of the longships instead of the galleon.”

“They did?” Nimue was surprised. She thought Pym would want to go with her. _It may be Hector. Pym seems quite fond of him_ , Nimue thought, shrugging.

Bors narrowed his eyes as he looked between Merlin and the hooded figure, who stood some distance away from them. After a while, Bors nodded, his eyes still on Lancelot, “Sure they can. Is your mysterious friend coming with us, Nimue?”

She looked to Merlin for help, he nodded slightly. “Yes, along with Merlin and Squirrel, if that’s ok with you, Bors,” she smiled sweetly.

The man finally looked away from the Monk and said, “As you wish, my lady,” he bowed his head and walked away to help his men with loading crates and people onto the ships.

“What is going on, father?” she turned sharply to Merlin and said through her teeth.

“Bors is Lancelot and Hector’s cousin,” the man said quietly. _Oh no._ They didn’t need that complication right now. She inhaled deeply to calm down and suddenly felt the Monk’s presence right behind her.

“You should leave me behind so I don’t endanger you,” he said quietly. She could hear the rustling of the fabric behind her but didn’t want to turn around to look at him. Nimue didn’t want to forgive him and that would inevitably happen if she looked into his eyes. So she lifted her chin and looked towards the galleons anchored in the deeper waters.

“Here, take it,” Lancelot said and came closer. She could feel the heat of his body on her back. His stretched hand was nudging her waist when he reached out with his hand opened. She looked down and saw his Ash pin. “Please, Nimue, take it,” she could barely hear his whisper through the sensation caused by his warm breath on her neck and his unique scent surrounding her. She took a shaky breath and took his hand in her both, gently closing his fingers around the pin.

She was still holding onto his hand when she whispered, “No,” at that moment she knew she would never let him leave. And she didn’t even care that had no feelings for her. “No,” this time her voice was strong and clear. She turned around in his arms, their bodies almost touching, looked into his eyes shadowed by the hood, and said with determination, “You’re coming with us.”

* * *

Merlin saw the change in Nimue – her decision was final, her heart was set. And the young Lancelot knew that too. He bowed his head and said, “As you wish.”

Merlin was content with that. Percival seemed content with that too. Bors however, was staring at Lancelot so intensely, the sorcerer was surprised the Monk’s hood hadn’t disintegrated yet. They needed to be careful.

It took till the evening to load everyone and everything onto the ships and say their goodbyes to those staying. They all knew that most of them would see each other but the farewell was emotional nevertheless.

Once on the Bors’ galleon, Lancelot discreetly moved to the back of the ship, where the captain wouldn’t venture too often. Merlin joined and stayed with him as they had matters to discuss. Nimue and Percival occasionally sat with them, when they weren’t tending to others or just enjoying their time on the ship. All children stayed on the deck for the first few hours of the journey, excited to be on _a big boat_. Soon though, they were taken to the lower deck where they would stay the night.

The journey was surprisingly uneventful. The sky was cloudless, the wind was blowing from just the right direction, nobody got sick, nobody attacked their ships. The surprised captain even commented on the ease and speed they were travelling with.

Nimue and Percival seemed to be loving every single moment. Bors seemed to enjoy telling them old sea tales and teaching them about ships. Also, he seemed to lose interest in Lancelot. Lancelot was quiet and reserved as usual. Merlin was just bored. _What kind of a lousy ship has no wine available onboard?_

It took only two days till the shores of the Gennewis Kingdom in Gallia emerged on the horizon. They approached the harbour in the evening.

Merlin looked to the right of the harbour, towards a fog-covered centre of the bay. He’d swear he saw silhouettes floating in the milky air. He smiled and thought, _What a fitting welcome._


	10. Homecoming

[ ](https://sta.sh/01ks2piarcq4)

The moment Lancelot heard Bors blowing a horn and letting whoever was keeping a guard on the shore know they were arriving, he knew there was no going back. No more hiding. He was terrified but he held on to the hope that maybe his life would be spared.

When they got close enough to the harbour he could see individual people, he was shocked to find hundreds of the Ash Folk, holding torches, waiting along the shore. He gulped and looked at Nimue and Merlin who also seemed to be taken back by that sight.

Percival, on the other hand, had no qualms with expressing his thoughts, “Wow, that’s a lot of people. Why are they here?” the boy looked at Bors.

“Well, they’ve never seen the magical Fey before so they are naturally curious,” the man smiled. “Also,” he briefly glanced back at Lancelot and said quietly, “they’re gathered here to welcome the one that was lost.”

“Who was lost?” Percival was confused but the ship bumping on the side of the jetty announced their arrival and the boy lost interest in any further conversation, just took Nimue’s hand and dragged her the port beam to have a better view.

The ships’ gangways were lowered and people started disembarking. The Fey were greeted with awe by the Ash Folk but soon their children, including Percival, started mixing and running around, and all the wings, antlers, tusks, and other _inhuman_ attachments got forgotten in the excitement of meeting new friends. There was no hostility coming from the Ash Folk. The feeling of relief on the Fey side was palpable. The feeling of joy and wonder on the Ash side was undeniable.

The last people to leave the galleon were Bors, Nimue, Lancelot, and Merlin. Lancelot noticed Hector nearby, still hiding under his hood, standing next to Pym. 

His eyes scanned the crowd of strangers, yet not strangers at all. They all were wearing their pins proudly. They might not have the ashen markings under their eyes but there was the feeling they were one people and they would fight for each other because they were brothers and sisters despite not having the Fey magic anymore.

Nimue turned to him and said quietly, “Let’s go.”

They walked down the gangway and towards the shore. His brother took his hood down and came to stand behind him. So did Merlin. The members of the Fey Council, as they called themselves, came to his aide too. Lancelot felt grateful to have allies in these people though still couldn't comprehend why they were so generous towards him. He was too overwhelmed to have all this support to notice a tall woman emerging from the crowd and walking towards them as they reached the point where jetty and a boardwalk on a shore met.

When he eventually did, his world came to a standstill. His mouth went dry and hands started shaking as he slowly stepped forward. The Ash woman’s eyes stayed on him all the time. The expression on her face was sorrowful. He took his hood down and waited. The audible gasps were heard throughout the crowd of the Ash Folk and then there was only complete silence and hundreds of pairs of eyes were on him. He looked at the woman’s beautiful face, only slightly aged from what he remembered.

“Aunt Evaine,” he said quietly, not daring to move. Just waiting for the inevitable. He expected her anger and condemnation, maybe even hate.

She stopped a couple of yards away, tears were streaming down her cheeks. Suddenly, she threw herself at his feet, grabbing onto his tunic, sobbing. She looked up from her kneeling position and cried out, “Please, forgive us, Lancelot,” she was trying to catch a breath. “Forgive us for what we did to you.”

Shocked Lancelot, seeing that proud woman at his feet, immediately grabbed his aunt by the shoulders, helping her get up and said with a tremble in his voice, “You don’t ever bow to me, you bow to no one! Do you hear me?”

Lady Evaine took a few deep breaths and looked at him with love and cupped his cheeks tenderly, and smiled through tears. “You’re an image of Elaine, my dear boy. And you have her generous and loving heart,” she said putting her hand on his chest.

He grabbed her hand gently but said angrily, “You don’t know who I’ve become, what monster stands in front of you, my lady. If you did, you’d order your people to kill me here and now. I don’t deserve any kindness. I don’t deserve any apologies. And I won’t apologise for anything because I don’t deserve to be forgiven.” he finished, looking in her eyes.

She gently freed her hand from his grasp and traced his face markings with the fingertips, then stepped away and said loudly so every Ash and every Fey could hear her. “We have witnessed and suffered the cruelty of the brother Kings Ban and Bors, of King Claudas, of the Rome's servants… I’m sure that whatever The Weeping Monk did cannot be much worse than what they have done,” she smiled sadly at him, “And, my dear boy, these are your people too, don’t forget…never forget,”

Lancelot was astounded she knew who he was and didn’t seem to be repulsed by his very existence. Lady Evaine gestured at her sons to come over and said with dignity, “If we didn’t betray you, the Weeping Monk wouldn’t exist at all. But we did…my sons did…and as a mother to them and a leader of our clan, I take the full responsibility,” she looked at him calmly. His cousins came to stand next to her when she said, “We are at your mercy, my beloved nephew, and we will take whatever punishment you have for us.”

Lancelot didn’t know how to react so he just stared at his family. This wasn't what he imagined had their first meeting, after almost a decade, would be. In fact, this was the farthest from what he had thought could happen. The respect he was treated with made him uncomfortable. The gravity of this moment made him ponder on his feelings towards his cousins.

He realised he wasn’t angry with Bors and Lionel for handing him over to Father Carden all those years ago. He realised he had never been angry with them.

Because he felt the accusation of killing his parent wasn’t baseless. He was there, watching his father sink the blade of his sword into his wife’s back and in return, her stabbing her husband in the heart with a dagger. To save Lancelot from the king’s wrath. He remembered how she looked at him with such love and sadness a mere moment before she and her husband evaporated in the green flames, leaving behind only their ashes floating in the night air. It felt like it all was purposeful somehow, the way the ashes swirled towards and around him, had to mean something. Was it his doing? Or was it his mother’s? He felt them gently settling onto his face, felt the heat in places where the tears on his cheeks mixed with the ashes. It felt like there were embers under his skin. That moment he knew he would always carry his parents with him, both literally and metaphorically. But that didn’t diminish the guilt he felt for not even trying to help his mother.

So no, he wasn’t angry with his cousins. He heard the monks talking between themselves that King Claudas had promised Bors and Lionel that their father – King Bors, would be released upon Lancelot’s arrival back on land. And Lancelot understood that. He just wished Hector could stay in Gennewis with their family.

Lancelot took a step towards his cousins, who hung their head awaiting the verdict. He put his hands on their shoulders and said, “I am not angry with you for delivering me to the Red Paladins. You don’t need my forgiveness for trying to protect your family. I am, however, disappointed you didn’t even try to fight for Hector, who also is your family. He hadn’t deserved any of what came next.”

Neither Bors nor Lionel said anything. They didn’t have to. “So I’ll let Hector decide the course of action here because as far as I’m concerned, you don’t owe me anything and I don’t hold any hard feelings,” he extended his hand as a gesture of goodwill.

Bors didn’t waste any time. He shook the offered hand and embraced Lancelot in a bear-like hug, saying shakily, “Thank you, Lance.” Pale Lionel, still looking down, followed with a stiff handshake and a nod. When Lancelot turned to Lady Evaine she was looking at him with pride and respect he didn’t expect. Like he’d passed some kind of a test.

Moments later, she frowned thoughtfully and said quietly, looking hopefully at her nephew, “Hector…?”

“I’m here, Lady Evaine,” the young man took few steps forward.

“Hector!” she exclaimed and took him into a motherly embrace. “I’m so happy to see you, my dear,” she took his face into her hands and looked at him from all angles. “You’re handsome like your father,” she chuckled when he blushed and looked to Lancelot for help. When she had them both in front of her, she took their hands and said somberly, looking between them “Look how much you’ve grown. You are men now, forging your paths. Ban and Elaine would be so proud!” she smiled with teary eyes.

After a few moments, she realised there were other people with them on the jetty. Lady Evaine smiled and said, “Lancelot, are you going to introduce me to your friends?” she was a picture of the royal composure and dignity now.

He stood next to her, saying formally, “Let me introduce you to Lady Evaine, the leader of the Ash clan, Queen to King Bors of Gaunnes, my mother's sister.”

“Not a queen, my dear boy, not anymore,” she said sadly, squeezing his hand. Oh, that meant uncle Bors was no more. For all his faults as a ruler, Bors loved his wife deeply and was devoted to her, so seeing her grieving was heartbreaking.

He kissed her on the temple and whispered, “I’m so sorry, aunt.”

“Me too,” she smiled and patted him on the cheek, the said briskly, “Well, what are you waiting for, young man? Introduce me to this lovely lady,” she smiled at Nimue and took a hold of the girl’s hands.

* * *

Nimue wasn’t sure what to expect when they arrived but all this she was seeing, wasn’t it. The sheer number of people that showed up to welcome them was overwhelming. Their friendliness too. She couldn’t say much about the land itself as it was already night but the dark silhouettes of huge trees suggested they were on the threshold of a really old forest.

And as for the Monk and his family, she was stunned when she saw that beautiful and proud woman crumpling to the ground to beg him for forgiveness. Admittedly, Nimue didn’t know the story of his past but whatever that was, it had to be tragic, judging by Lady Evaine’s reaction.

The lady - Lancelot's aunt, said he was an image of his mother and when she stood next to Lancelot, Nimue could see the family resemblance. They were both tall and lean, had similar facial features, from blue eyes and straight noses to well-defined cheekbones. Even Bors and Lionel, despite both having darker hair and being a little shorter, looked very much like their mother with their expressive blue eyes. And then there was Hector who looked somehow like his cousins even without having the Ash-side family features. _What beautiful people they are_ , Nimue thought kindly.

When Lady Evaine asked her nephew to introduce her, she suddenly felt nervous and started fidgeting with the leather straps of her belt.

She looked shyly at Lancelot and met his warm gaze. “Aunt Evaine, this is Nimue,” he said softly not looking away even for a moment. Nimue noticed his aunt raising her eyebrows at that and looking between the two of them. Lancelot continued, “Nimue is the Airmid’s Maiden, the Wolf-Blood Witch and Fey Queen of Britannia.” That impressive list of titles helped said Witch to regain some confidence. It also seemed to impress everyone around, even Lady Evaine, who bowed her head respectfully.

Nimue was grateful for Lancelot’s help – she was sure he saw her nervousness and created all the showy titles on the spot, just to make her seem way more important and powerful in the eyes of every single person gathered in the harbour.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Evaine. Thank you for your hospitality and all your help. Without it, we’d be lost,” she smiled and stretched her hand for a handshake.

The Ash woman looked down at the offered hand, tsked, and pulled her into a warm hug, “The pleasure is all mine, my dear. And thank you for bringing him home,” she whispered and kissed her on the cheek.

Nimue wanted to protest but suddenly they heard Squirrel’s voice from behind Lady Evaine, “On Merlin’s bold head, Lancelot! How come your aunt is so pretty and you’re so ugly?!” At that, everyone burst out laughing. Except for Lancelot who managed to curb his reaction to pressing his lips into a tight line but the mirth in his eyes was obvious.

“And who is this young man?” Lady Evaine asked still chuckling.

“This is Sir Percival - The Fey Knight of Squirrel emblem,” Lancelot winked at the boy, then fell silent for few moments and added quietly, looking at Squirrel seriously, “The Saviour of the Weeping Monk and Brother to Lancelot of Gennewis.”

Nimue nearly burst into tears seeing Squirrel’s reaction to the words. He stood there, staring at the Monk and trying to hold back the tears. Lancelot embraced the boy, who took a minute to calm down and then wiped his eyes and nose on the man’s cloak.

Lady Evaine said in a solemn voice, “It is an honour to meet such a courageous young man, Sir Percival. I thank you for saving our prince,” she bowed her head. Percival nearly fainted. Nimue smiled proudly. The crowd cheered.

The Ash leader greeted kindly and welcomed each member of the Fey council. Lastly, she faced Merlin who was introduced as the Most Powerful Sorcerer, the Old Trickster, and Father to Nimue.

“Merlin the Sorcerer?” Lancelot’s aunt raised her eyebrows in surprise, “You surely cannot be the great Merlin who foolishly taught the Fairy Queen his magic just to be trapped in a tree... by her using that very magic against him…Trapped in a tree for four hundred years, yes?” Nimue also raised her eyebrows. So did everyone else.

Merlin looked embarrassed for a moment, then threw his arms up and dramatically said, “What can one do in the face of love?! You either give in and hope for the best or refuse it and spend the rest of your life in misery,” he paused dramatically and looked around, “And I’m not one for enjoying any kind of misery, I’ll tell you that, my lady.”

“So you’d rather be the idiot, who gives away his secrets to someone he knows will betray him?” Squirrel addressed the matter in his usual Squirrel-way.

“Yes. Yes, _I would rather be that idiot_ , you little snot,” Merlin said starring the boy dead in the eye.

“Well, that’s stupid,” the child mused also staring the man down.

Lady Evaine chuckled, “Merlin, welcome! Now you simply _must_ tell me your side of the story,” she smiled, then turned to the crowd and raised her voice, “We would like to welcome every Fey brother and sister and every human ally – Viking or otherwise, to our land. All that is ours is yours. The past is forgotten and forgiven," she announced, nodding to Nimue. "The time for making plans will come tomorrow. Tonight, we celebrate because we received the most precious gift – we got our Ash brother back, our prince and the heir to the throne of Gennewis!”

Cheering and applause erupted at that. Stunned Nimue gaped at Lancelot who seemed embarrassed by the _heir to the throne_ comment. To her, the idea of the Weeping Monk becoming a king of anything was just ridiculous...and, somehow, exciting.

The Ash woman raised her hand to silence the crowd and continued, “We may not have the Fey Fire in us anymore but we know how to throw an unforgettable feast that even our magical sisters and brothers will remember till the day they die!”

At that, the cheering intensified. Soon, people started dispersing and walking into the forest. The Ash Folk were helping the Fey with their possessions, the happy chatter was heard everywhere. Lady Evaine invited the Council with a gesture to follow the people. She stayed behind to have another look at Lancelot. _This man is loved so much_ , Nimue thought longingly.

Nimue decided to stay close to her father for now. She needed an anchor. Everything was overwhelming to her and he looked calm and content. She watched Arthur and Red Spear, along with the Fey elders, disappearing into the forest and was glad he found his anchor in all this.

Lancelot was talking quietly to Squirrel. He was the greatest mystery to her. There was something new and surprising she discovered about him on every corner. This Monk was such a far cry from the Weeping Monk she saw in her village for the first time.

She closed her eyes, enjoying the relative quietness of the night and listening to the waves gently bouncing off the jetties. Then she heard her father calling to Lady Evaine and looked towards them.

“About the Fey Fire, my lady,” Merlin said, walking up to the woman, “I think we may be able to help with that,” he looked towards the oblivious Lancelot.

“How could you help us, Merlin?” she smiled sadly, “Unless you brought the Fire back to our land, there is nothing that can be done.”

At that, the sorcerer smiled and said conspiratorially, “Oh, we brought something far better.”


	11. The Glade

[ ](https://sta.sh/01o9l158jdsm)

Percival was trying to take in everything like it was the last, not the first time he was seeing it, his head was swiveling on the thin neck like unhinged. The moon was shining bright, its silver beams were peeking through the dense canopy, made the place look truly like an enchanted fairy forest. Everything was huge and very old. He would need to investigate it in the daylight. He was sure there will be no sleep for him tonight.

He didn’t want to miss anything.

But he missed a root sticking out from the path, and only because he was walking between Nimue and Lancelot who managed to catch him by his arms, he didn’t end up falling onto his face.

“Careful, _Sir Percival_ , you don’t want to miss the big party, do you?” Nimue teased him.

“It’s all under control, _Airmid’s Maiden_. I wouldn’t miss it even if I had to crawl there,” he teased back, “And even if I wasn’t able to, I’m sure our _Prince_ _Lancelot of Gennewis_ , would carry me there,” he smiled cheekily and playfully nudged the man with an elbow.

“You can't know that for sure, my boy. I still need to take my revenge on you for calling Goliath ugly,” Lancelot sounded amused. Percival laughed at that happily and took the adults' hands. They could hear the festivities ahead – the faint sound of upbeat music, the chatter and the laughter.

When they entered a big clearing in the forest, Percival’s jaw dropped. Most of the clearing was taken by a lake with the moon reflected in its black surface with some grassy area and trees with doors carved into them surrounding it. On the opposite side of the glade, there was an area of giant boulders. It looked like a long time ago there had been a rock avalanche that stopped right at the edge of the clearing and now it was overgrown with moss and trees.

But what really filled Percival with awe was the dead old tree on an island in the middle of the lake, joined with the land by partially submerged stepping stones, creating a kind of a footbridge. The tree had branches twisting upwards. They looked like flames frozen in the moment.

He heard a gasp of wonderment behind him and he turned to ask Lancelot some questions but the man was busy staring at Nimue who was trying to absorb the amazing view.

Percival rolled his eyes. “Lancelot, when you’re done staring at Nimue, maybe you could tell us some more about this awesome place?” the boy said sternly and looked between the adults. Suddenly they both were trying to avoid each other’s eyes and looked thoroughly embarrassed.

Lancelot cleared his throat and said, “This is the Enchanted Glade. It is believed that it used to be a gateway to the Fairy Realm but it may as well be just an old story to scare children away from this place.”

“Scare away? Why?” Percival asked.

The man scratched the stubble on his jaw, saying “Well, the parents must have been afraid that the kids could drown in the lake so they used to tell them that this glade was guarded by fairy warriors and that whoever would dare to even dip a toe in the water, would get dragged down into a cave at the bottom and never come back.”

“Fairy warriors? Like the ones from your stories?” Nimue asked excitedly. _How does she know?_ the boy wondered, but seeing her blushing suddenly, he figured she probably had been eavesdropping. Percival and the man exchanged looks and both smirked. She noticed the exchange and grumbled, “Oh, forget it!”

“Yes, Nimue, like the ones from my stories,” Lancelot said kindly.

“What’s the story of that dead tree though?” the boy found the tree fascinating and had a feeling it had a very special meaning.

And he wasn’t disappointed when the Monk said quietly, “It is the Fire Tree. The Fey Fire used to live inside this ancient ash. It was protected by powerful enchantments that wouldn’t allow anyone but the Fey Folk touch it, may it be with hands or tools” he felt silent for a moment before he continued, “Apparently when the Fire was still here, this glade would be bustling with magical activity,” he smiled. “I used to come here as a boy and play in the tree’s branches…and I’d swear I saw creatures moving under the surface of the water. I’d swear I saw winged fairies dancing above the lake. Naturally, nobody believed me, my brother and my cousins included,” he shrugged.

“Maybe you did see them for real,” Percival truly believed the man had seen something, “Maybe you were able to see all that because, somehow, you had the magic in you...Yes! That must be it!” the boy exclaimed convinced he was right.

Lancelot just looked at him for a moment, then smiled and ruffled his hair in response, “It wasn’t possible, since the Fire was gone, Percival,” he said wistfully.

“What about the rockslide area over there?” Arthur’s voice startled Percival. He didn’t notice they had an audience – Arthur, Red Spear, Hector, and Pym were standing right behind them. Merlin and Lady Evaine not far to their right.

“It is called the Valley of No Return and nobody knows what happened to create it but it is very old,” Lancelot said. “It runs right up to the base of the castle walls. There is a path between the boulders, linking a secret cave under the castle to this glade,” he narrowed his eyes, “The legend says the Fey, who lived on Avalon and passed away, have their tombs there – each boulder for each Fey.”

“Wow,” Percival gushed over the history of this place for a while, then remembered, “What Castle?” he was confused.

Lancelot looked towards the Valley and said grimly, “King Ban’s castle…”

“Avalon? Avalon Island from the tales?” Red Spear interrupted skeptically “The one ruled by women? The one where people were immortal unless they chose to die and had to stop eating the life-giving apples? The one where all magical beings lived together in peace?” she finished looking at Lancelot almost hopefully.

Arthur looked at her and chuckled kindly, “Guinevere, it is obviously not the…”

“The people living there weren’t immortal but the apples allowed them to live for centuries, millenia even,” interjected Lancelot, looking at the Fire Tree.

“On Heimdall’s horn, you’re not even joking!” Red Spear was astounded.

Stupefied Percival looked at the woman, “And that’s the only thing Lancelot has told us that sounded too fantastical to be true, is it?

“Cut it, kid,” Arthur lightly smacked him on the head.

“It’s Sir Percival,” the boy grumbled rubbing the spot and was rewarded by Lancelot looking at Arthur as if blood was about to be spilled. _Good_.

* * *

Lancelot did not like the Brit. At all. He didn’t want to delve into why. He just didn’t. But he had to recognise Arthur was a good man. And that was the only reason he hadn’t broken his nose yet.

 _But that day may come sooner rather than later_ , he thought to himself watching the man being all too attentive to Red Spear all the while Nimue was just a few steps away. Why didn’t she react to what was going on? The Monk couldn’t understand it at all, but he blamed his complete inexperience in anything to do with women. _Besides, it’s not your place,_ he scolded himself.

Lancelot looked around his company and was met with Merlin’s gaze. They looked at each other silently for a while and then Merlin nodded at him. _It’s time_ , he finally would find out whether he had any purpose in all this. He nodded back solemnly and turned towards the Fire Tree.

Suddenly he felt a gentle touch on his back, “Are you alright, Lancelot?” he could listen to her saying his name all day, every day, till the day he’d die. Nimue was standing next to him gazing up into his eyes, her scent heady. He didn’t trust his voice so he just nodded. She looked nervous, the feisty witch was gone. “Would you take a walk with me?” she asked shyly.

“Of course,” his response was immediate. He didn’t even care whether it was appropriate given the fact that her significant other was standing right there, with them. He just wanted to spend a few minutes with this incredible woman. He knew he was being selfish but if that was all he could get, that’s what he would take.

They strolled around the lake towards the island. People greeted them cheerfully, raising toasts to them.

When they arrived at the Fire Tree, Nimue looked at him seriously and said, “I know what you’re about to do. I heard you talking to Merlin about returning the Fire to your people…” she looked worried, “…but did he tell you whether it’s going to be dangerous?”

“I’m sure that people here are too far away to get harmed,” he assured her quietly. He truly admired her constant care for the Fey.

“Will it be safe for _you_ , Lancelot?” she asked urgently, her eyes shining with something he couldn’t put his finger on. “I’m not worried about the rest. You will be the one going in there!” she grabbed his tunic with both hands, “I’m begging you, if you feel you’re in _any_ kind of danger, leave immediately. Do you hear me?”

He didn’t know how to react. He knew how he wanted to but also knew that could never happen. So he just looked at her beautiful face marred with worry…for _him_! Is was strangely soothing and exhilarating at the same time to have someone besides the little Fey boy that cared for his wellbeing, even if it was only temporary.

He covered Nimue’s hands with his and said, “I cannot promise you anything but it has to be done. And it has to be me as I was chosen for this task by the very Sword of Power you’re carrying,” he said seriously as his thumb gently rubbed her hand. “This is how I can repay for, at least, some of my deeds, Nimue. You know this. You saw what I did to your village. You know I’m a monster…”

“You’re not a monster! I didn't really mean that,” she said quietly, “And you don’t have to repay with your life. You’ll do more good if you’re alive. Your death would just hurt Squirrel and your family… and me,” she finished with a barely audible whisper.

She looked lost and sad, and he needed her to be strong in case something would go wrong… After all, it’s not like Merlin had never been wrong. The sorcerer gave him all the instructions on how to reignite the Fey Fire but since it had never been done before, it was safe to assume Merlin’s idea was just… well, an idea, nothing more. 

It all seemed simple coming out from the Magician’s mouth: _“Go inside the hollow core of tree with the Sword of Power in your hand, connect to the Hidden, make physical contact with the walls of the tree cavern, focus on the Fire inside you until you feel the entire tree is ablaze. And then you’re done.”_

Lancelot took a step back and unbuckled his cloak, took it off and draped it over Nimue’s shoulders.

“I need you to be the Fey Queen people love so much,” he said in a strong voice, untying the scabbard belts, “I need you to be the Wolf-Blood Witch the Church fears so much,” the belt was off, he was wrapping it around the scabbards holding his swords in, “For your people. For my people. For me,” he looked her in the eyes.

She still looked scared but there was a growing determination under that fear. It looked like the warrior queen was slowly surfacing. He presented his weapons in his stretched out hands, “I need to know you will be there for them to lead and protect them…my Queen,” with that, he placed his weapons in her waiting arms.

He was placing his life in her hands. He was unarmed and vulnerable. He wanted this gesture to show her how much he trusted her and believed in her.

She pressed the weapons to her chest with one hand and unsheathed the Sword of Power and handed it to him with the hilt pointing toward him – an equally powerful gesture of trust.

Then she looked at him calmly, a tear rolled down her cheek when she whispered, “Come back…please.”

Lancelot wiped the tear with his thumb and nodded. Then, he disappeared into the darkness of the hollowed tree.

* * *

Pym and others waited a few moments before, on Merlin’s signal, slowly followed Nimue and Lancelot. On the way, the sorcerer explained to them what was about to happen.

The night felt special. There was something in the air buzzing with unexplainable energy, despite no magic being present. It made Pym sad that her own people were the cause of it. She didn’t have any special connection to the Hidden but she had heard from Nimue’s mother how vital Nature’s magic was to those Fey who could physically experience it, how devastating to them it would be if they lost it – like having part of their soul being torn away.

They neared the crossing to the island just as Lancelot unbuckled his belts. She couldn’t hear what was being said but it seemed to be a very important moment between them.

Pym was holding Squirrel’s hand, afraid he’d fall into the lake. She knew the stories about the underwater world were just stories, but she wasn’t inclined to test the waters, so to speak. However, the boy ripped his hand out of hers when he saw Lancelot climbing into the Fire Tree and sprinted onto the island. But he was too late. The man was gone.

She left Hector and the rest behind and hurried there to give her dear friend much needed support. Nimue was standing there, motionless, looking at where the Monk had disappeared, clutching his weapons to her chest, clearly trying not to lose control over her emotions. Squirrel stood pressed against her side, also looking miserable.

Nimue wouldn’t want anyone to see the Fey Queen in this state, mere moments from falling apart completely, so Pym cupped her friend's face in her hands, “Nim, look at me, please,” she pleaded, “Focus on my voice,” she kept repeating it like a chant.

The woman was finally taken out of the numb state and looked at her. “He promised he’d come back,” she said, looking lost, “He promised me,” her whisper was tearing into Pym’s soul.

Pym swallowed hard, “Of course he will. I have no doubt,” she said with conviction she didn’t necessarily hold. “But now, let’s go eat something and rest. Merlin said it may take a while,” she embraced Nimue with one arm and Squirrel with the other and led them off the island to the where the Council members along with Lady Evaine, her sons, and a few others were gathered.

Nimue ate automatically, looking into the flames, deep in thought. Squirrel curled up on the ground next to her and fell asleep wrapped in the Monk’s cloak. The man’s weapons were resting on the ground in front of the woman. _She’s guarding them for him_ , Pym caressed the medallion she got from Dof, understanding what it meant to hold onto the last hope.

Suddenly, Nimue turned to Hector and said, “I want you to tell me everything you know about your brother’s past,” she looked at him intensely, “ _Everything_.”

And so he did. He was talking for a long time, everybody was listening, others gathered to hear the story of the Monk’s turbulent life. He mentioned what Lancelot himself said about the day they were banished by the Lady in _the dress made of glass_ from the island. Lady Evaine openly wept, Bors was horrified, and Lionel was looking at the ground, his fists clutching his knees. Even Arthur and Red Spear looked upset. Nimue was sitting motionless, her face frozen in grief, tears falling from her closed eyes and dripping onto her hands that were cradling Lancelot’s weapons to her chest again.

Pym was just shaking her head slowly. She already knew that story but it wasn't any easier to hear it again, “Who would’ve thought the Weeping Monk is just a broken boy underneath all that darkness,” she whispered.

Hector let her head rest on his shoulder and said, “He is. But he’s also a murderer and he knows it. He knows it as much as I know if it wasn’t for me we wouldn’t have to be one,” he hung his head low. “But his deeds are his alone and he needs to put in a lot of work to atone and even then he may never be forgiven. He knows all that and accepts it.”

Pym put her hand on his back and rubbed it, “You shouldn’t blame yourself in the slightest, Hector. You were powerless. But, you’re right. There is a lot of work ahead of him,” she said gently, feeling an immense pity for the brothers. He looked at her and sadly smiled in gratitude.

She knew by now that the young man was smitten with her. She felt flattered. He was handsome and charming in his very special, naive way. But she needed time to heal from the loss of Dof before she could even start thinking about anyone else. She had a feeling Hector wouldn’t mind waiting if she just told him about her Viking. She should and she would, she decided.

“Who is the _Lady in the dress made of glass_?” Nimue asked suddenly. Pym noticed her friend hadn’t said a word all the time up until now.

Hector smiled at her apologetically and said, “I don’t know. I don’t remember anything beside…”

“Her name is Viviane,” Merlin interjected, looking at the fire.

“How do you know?” Arthur asked and everyone looked expectantly at Merlin.

“Well, do you remember Lady Evaine asking me about being trapped in the tree?” the man looked around for confirmation. Some giggles could be heard. “That’s Viviane, the Fairy Queen of Avalon.” Murmurs erupted at that. Pym had heard of Avalon but never treated those tales seriously.

“Are you really saying Avalon is a real place, not just some made-up utopian paradise?” Pym rolled her eyes at Red Spear’s love for anything to do with the myth. The Viking’s eyes were shining with excitement and she couldn’t sit still. _Just like a little girl waiting for the first snow, not the powerful princess warrior she was_ , Pym smiled to herself.

“It is real indeed. However, to humans, it will always remain a myth as they don’t get to keep any memories of the place…” Merlin sent Hector a meaningful look, “…after they leave the Fairy Realm. And only the Fey can move freely in and out of the island.”

“Is this place anything like what Lancelot told in his stories?” Squirrels said with a sleepy voice. He sat up, still wrapped in the cloak, rubbed his eyes, and leaned onto Nimue, who embraced him tightly. “You know which stories, Nimue, you were eavesdropping after all,” he smirked at her. Pym snorted seeing her embarrassed friend’s face nearly combusting.

Nimue straightened up and said with dignity, “I wasn’t eavesdropping, Squirrel. I was being simply vigilant and distrustful of the quality of the tales our enemy could serve you. That’s all.”

“Enemy? Who do you call _an enemy_?” the boy was so appalled, he pushed himself off the woman and sat up stiffly.

“Do you remember the Weeping Monk who took part in massacring our village and personally killed your uncle Kipp right in front of you? Or did you forget?” Nimue said darkly. Pym wasn’t comfortable with her friend's unnecessary cruelty towards the child. Everybody looked uneasy.

Squirrel looked at Nimue for a long while. His usually cheeky and happy face was filled with sorrow when he said quietly, “I didn’t forget… but I forgave. Because when he saved me from Brother Salt, I realised I was given another chance…and so was he. And I know it seems silly to trust somebody like the Weeping Monk so quickly but he was ready to die for me – a nobody – right there and then, without any hesitation. That’s how I knew his loyalty was with me. And all those days after when he was taking care of me and making sure I was safe, made me love him like a brother. And I’m glad I met him, despite all the horrors our people have suffered from his hands,” Squirrel looked around and stated proudly, “Lancelot is my bother. Lancelot is Fey. And that’s good enough for me.”

His words resonated with Pym and others. A pensive mood settled over the camp for a while. _Is that it? Is that all it takes to change people’s hearts? A little boy’s love for, what everybody thought, a lost soul?_ Pym marveled, looking at the quiet child.

Her friend leaned over to him, said something into his ear, and kissed his cheek. His eyes brightened slightly and he hugged her tightly.

“Well…?” Red Spear’s impatient voice brought everyone back to reality, “What stories, kid?” At that, Pym guffawed and was joined by others.

It was Squirrel’s time to shine. His tales of a boy who was raised by fairies captivated everyone and were so over-embellished in fantastical details, Pym and Nimue exchanged looks and chuckled. But it didn’t matter because everybody, Merlin and many newcomers included, was gobbling up every single word coming from the boy’s mouth.

When Squirrel finished, awestruck and red-cheeked Red Spear sighed and said dreamily, “It was even better than stories of the North.” Arthur laughed at that and pushed her playfully, to what she giggled but then frowned and looked suspiciously at the boy, “Are you sure the Monk didn’t make it up, kid?”

The boy shook his head, “No way. When he told me the story for the first time, he was barely alive. He was trying to stay conscious most of the time so I doubt he was in a state letting him to make up such a fantastical world. And then he repeated that story days later. Same details and all,“ he said with conviction.

“Barely alive?” Arthur’s interest picked.

“Aha,” said Squirrel absentmindedly, trying to mend the cloak around his shoulders, “After we fought our way out of the Red Paladin’s camp.”

Arthur sneered, “True hero that one,” he mocked.

“Yes, he is,” the boy stood up and looked the man dead in the eye. After a few moments, he shook his head and said, “I don’t know what’s wrong with you two. You always mock and snarl at Lancelot. He can’t stand you either, despite you two never really talking. Whenever he has to admit you’re a skilled fighter, he looks like he had eaten something rotten. And you...” Squirrel pointed at Arthur angrily, “You know he’s the greatest warrior of us all. You know he wants to help and yet you treat him like he’s a spy for the Red scum. I don’t understand!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms up.

Arthur looked down, embarrassed. Nimue looked like she wanted to be buried alive. People around started whispering between each other and giggling. _Oh, this is getting interesting,_ Pym’s delight was so obvious that mortified Nimue gave her an elbow, looking at her in disbelief.

“Squirrel, that’s enough,” Nimue attempted to pacify him, “Let’s get some…”

“No! Let’s not!” the boy was getting angrier by the minute. He even started pacing back and forth. “Let’s talk about how half the time you growl at Lancelot and criticise every single bloody thing he does. The other half, you’re not able to take your gooey eyes off him… And he’s not much better!” he put the hands on his hips and shook his head, “I don’t know what is wrong with you, so-called adults!”

“Yeah, neither do I,” said innocently Pym with a wide grin, having time of her life. Nimue might hate her from now on but at least everyone else would have a good laugh, judging by the look of mirth in their eyes and barely contained smiles. Even Arthur was trying to hide his grin behind the hand.

Nimue got up with her face the colour of a well-ripened cherry. She was holding Lancelot’s weapon so tightly, her knuckles turned white. She pressed her lips into a thin line, and then said darkly, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Squirrel, so keep your mouth shut, boy!”

“Yeah?” the little boy was feisty and wouldn’t let go, “Or maybe you two should just get it out of your system, rather than mope around like some idiots in love!” he shouted. Nimue blanch and let out an audible gasp…and ran away into the darkness, still clutching the Monk’s blades.

“AND MY NAME IS PERCIVAL!!!” the boy yelled after her.


	12. Of the Lake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story reached 100 kudos as of chapter 11... which is insane to me! 😱  
> Thank you again for reading and leaving your comments! 🖤🖤🖤

[ ](https://sta.sh/0rn8ddm6nqw)

Nimue didn’t know where she was running. She just needed to get away from everyone and clear her head of thoughts and ideas born out of Squirrel’s outburst.

She slowed down when reached a meandering path between huge rocks, each the size of a hut in her village, each covered in a thick layer of moss. The place looked mysterious with mist crawling on the ground and the surrounding eerie silence. _The Valley of No Return_ , she remembered Lancelot’s words.

Lancelot. How far she had moved away from the revenge-thirsty witch to _gooey-eyed_ fool… She smiled wistfully and sat down on the nearest rock. Her life would be so much easier if that man hadn’t shown up and upturned everything. _Like everything had been in perfect harmony before_ , she snorted and rolled her eyes at her own silliness.

“Maybe it hadn’t been but The One Who Weeps most definitely has spiced things up, hasn’t he?” a voice made Nimue’s spirit nearly leave her body. The witch shot up startled and leaned against a boulder and pressed the hand to her chest, trying to calm her heart down.

“Morgana, please don’t ever do this again,” the woman stared at the Widow, and then they both erupted into laughter. When they calmed down, Nimue hugged her dear friend tightly, saying, “I’m so happy to see you.” Then she looked at her and pouted, “What took you so long? Having that much fun in the Otherworld, are you?”

Morgana chuckled mirthlessly, “Being the Death Bringer is a busy business, alright.”

“Bad joke, sorry,” Nimue winced and looked at her friend apologetically.

“It’s fine,” the Widow waved it off, “ _But_ from what I’ve gathered, you’ve been busy too, you little _Heartbreaker_ ,” she pursed her lips innocently and then chuckled, “First, you nearly seduced a poor celibate monk under the moonlight,” she started counting on her fingers, “Then, you broke my brother’s heart. Then you broke the Monk’s…”

“Lancelot,” Nimue corrected Morgana, who looked at her with a soft expression on her face. “His name is Lancelot,” she said quietly with a hint of a smile, shyly looking into her friend’s eyes.

“Of course. I meant Lancelot’s heart,” the Widow smirked, “And, to top it off, now you’re attempting to break your own heart by trying to convince yourself, you’re making the biggest mistake of your life,” she clapped her hands and asked almost joyfully, “Did I miss anything?”

Nimue looked at her gloomily and said, “Nope, that covers it all,” and they both burst out laughing again. After few moments, she sighed deeply, “What should I do, my friend? I’m lost!”

“Lost how?” her friend asked gently.

“I don’t know how to be a queen – and apparently, there’s another Fey Queen around here, so who knows how that will turn out,” Nimue needed it. She needed to dump her fears and thoughts onto someone and she knew Morgana would keep a secret. “I don’t know how to lead! When I see Arthur, Red Spear, and even Lancelot – I see people who command respect. I command nothing, maybe some fear when I get carried away with the Sword occasionally,” she slumped back down on the rock. “It doesn’t help that Arthur is always there trying to do everything for me, so I don’t have to. He says I’m the Queen and I should delegate and he’s here to protect me like I’m some kind of a fragile maid. And I know he means well, but it makes me feel insecure and useless!” 

“What a buffoon,” Morgana rolled her eyes.

“And then there is Lancelot, who believes in me almost to no end! He thinks I can do anything and he even called me _his Queen_!” Nimue looked at Morgana with bewilderment, “And he’s the only one who isn’t afraid of my _magic_! You should’ve seen his face when I used it against the Trinity Guard! Everyone else would be terrified but he just stood there staring as if I was some kind of goddess,” she shook her head in disbelief. “And he is so caring all the time, not in that fussy, annoying way but in his quiet, discreet way. His belief in me sets the bar so high, I’m afraid I will never be able to reach that kind of greatness he projects onto me.”

Nimue looked at her friend in despair, “So who am I? A queen sitting on a throne and coldly calculating each move or a witch who's not afraid to get her hands dirty and protect with her magic?” She frowned, “Who should I be?”

“Unfortunately only you can answer that question, my dear,” Morgana hugged the queen – the lonely Fey girl she’d grown to love like a sister.

“I’m not sure I can do this on my own,” Nimue whispered with sadness.

Morgana looked towards the lake thoughtfully, frowning, and murmured, “Maybe you won’t have to.”

At that very moment, the ground shook, the boulders vibrated and trees creaked violently. It was the most breathtaking combination.

And suddenly there was nothing – no sound of birds or wind, just a complete silence slipping deep into the bones and paralysing the mind. And then…

BOOM!

They got knocked down by a powerful blast wave. The last thing Nimue registered before she lost consciousness was a column of green light reaching high up to the sky.

She was woken up by birdsong and flecks of sun rays dancing on her face. She opened her eyes slowly and looked towards the sky with the feeling of perfect tranquility. Few deep breaths in, she realised that her connection to nature was oddly strong like something clicked into place and amplified the magic flowing through her. It was so exhilarating she grinned widely, laughed out loud, and spread her limbs on the mossy ground, tears of joy gathering in the corners of her eyes. The Hidden’s whispers were as soothing as the gentle breeze caressing her face. She could stay here forever and wouldn’t miss a thing!

That thought, however, brought the events of the previous night to her mind. Nimue frowned lightly, remembering the last moments before everything went dark. What was it? She’d never experienced anything that turbulent and powerful in her life. Yet, at that moment, she felt no danger, just her senses being overwhelmed.

Whatever that was, she needed to check if others felt all that too. She got up, wrapped Lancelot’s belts around her torso, mounting his weapons on her back, brushed off her clothes from leaves and bits of moss, and left.

When she entered the Glade, she stumbled seeing a crowd facing the Fire Tree island. She walked to where she had left Squirrel and the rest of the company. Something was happening and she couldn’t even see. It looked like every single Ash, Fey, and human was gathered around the lake. Nimue started panicking, her heart was racing, she felt a lump in her throat. _Please, let it not be Lancelot_ , she felt nauseous. She was pushing forcefully through the crowd when she saw Merlin and Squirrel. Her father noticed her running towards them and opened his arms to embrace her and the boy joined in moments later.

“What happened?!” she couldn’t decipher the weird expression on Merlin’s face. His eyes crinkled when he smiled and nodded towards the island without saying anything. She turned around and the sight took her breath away.

There it was - the Fire Tree, glowing with green flames, inside and out.

“He did it”, she whispered in awe and laughed joyfully.

But what was even more mesmerising was the sight of naked Lancelot, down on one knee in a heap of ashes, holding the Sword of Power in both hands, with the tip of the blade resting on the ground. His head was bowed slightly, a green crown-shaped halo glowing above. Every single one of his scars was visible to the spectators.

 _He wouldn’t want anyone to see them_ , Nimue thought and grabbed his cloak from Squirrel’s hands, and sprinted forward. At the last moment, someone’s hands caught her before she fell into the lake. The stepping stone crossing was gone! She looked around in desperation, searching for anything that would help her get to the island. Well, she’d have to swim across.

But the moment she dipped her foot in the water, a creature jumped out from underneath the surface, snarling at her. He had sharp teeth and dead black eyes. A muscular human upper body, talons on his fingers, and a powerful-looking fish tale looked like they could easily destroy her. _So this is a merman_ , she took a step back and the creature instantly retreated under the water’s surface.

She looked towards Lancelot. She had to get there. He looked like he was in a trance of some kind. He might need her help!

“Here, take it,” Bors approached and handed her a bundle of fabric, “Just some clothes for Lance,” he smiled despite a concerned look on his face. She tilted her head in question. The man just shook his head, “He’s been like that for a long time now,” he said before quickly stepping back and standing next to his silent mother.

“Nimue, can you use your magic somehow?” Squirrel looked at her with huge scared eyes. _Of course!_ she let out a single chuckle and hugged the boy tightly.

Acting on instinct, the witch knelt facing the shore, her both hands firmly pressed against the ground with the fingers widely splayed. She closed her eyes and reach out to the Hidden. _Please avail me of your guidance and magic_ , she let the images of people she held dear swirl around her mind until they settled on a face with the weeping marks under the cobalt blue eyes. She could feel the Hidden’s magic rushing through her, towards her limbs, towards her fingers.

Breathe in… she opened her eyes and focused on the island’s shore.

Breathe out… she felt the Airmid’s Fingers creeping up on her cheeks.

Breathe in… she felt the life beneath the soil vibrating with barely contained energy.

Then she held her breath and, suddenly, a mass of vines shot up from the ground towards the island, twining and tangling, bridging the gap.

Nimue wasted no time. She grabbed the bundle off the ground and took Lancelot’s sword out of its scabbard, then jumped atop the bridge, ignoring the gasps and shocked cries coming from the crowd. She sprinted with the sword ready to strike any underwater creature that would dare to attack her. But none came at her.

Once safely on the island, she quickly looked back just to see the vines retreating rapidly. She met Merlin’s gaze. He smiled at her widely and bowed his head in respect, holding cheering Squirrel in his arms. Others were just gaping.

She shrugged smugly. _That’s right._ I am _Airmid’s Maiden, the Wolf-Blood Witch, the Fey Queen of Britannia_ , she thought with pride.

That quickly turned into embarrassment when she gazed at motionless Lancelot. The need to help him fought with the need to turn away her eyes from his naked body. But there was the audience ashore so she quickly squashed any qualms about the state of his undress, sat on her heels right behind the man, and reached with her trembling hand towards his tarnished back. Her gentle touch made him gasp.

“Lancelot,” she whispered, looking at the back of his head, where the wretched bald patch and the cross were gone now. How come the scars on his back were still there then? Shouldn’t they be gone too?

He took a few slow breaths. _He’s fine. He’s back_ , she cooed in her mind. She pressed her cheek to his back and let the tears of relief flow freely.

“Nimue, why am I naked?” Lancelot’s quiet, confused voice reached her and she chuckled, happy to hear his voice.

She didn’t answer immediately, just enjoyed the warmth of his skin under her cheek. He turned to see her face. The very face suddenly felt like it was about to burst into flames. Nimue yelped and turned away, holding the bundle of clothes out to him. He let out an embarrassed whimper and grabbed the clothes. She heard a thud when the Sword fell to the ground.

After a few moments, the rustling of fabric stopped and she heard the soft padding of his bare feet on the grass. Once in front of her, Lancelot helped her to get up off the ground and said softly, “Thank you.”

She took a moment to admire how handsome he looked in this informal and simple outfit – a fitting white linen shirt with the fully laced front and black leggings, loose above the knee. He had no belts or arm wraps or any other accessories on him. His hair was hanging loose around his face making him look even more youthful than he was.

Nimue noticed he was holding his Ash pin in his hand. She gently took it and pinned to his shirt, right above his heart.

She looked up at his face and saw his marks glowing faintly. But that was it. He didn’t look changed, there wasn’t any different energy about him. He was just Lancelot – the same savage warrior laying dormant under the layer of this gentle, quiet, and reliable man.

She smiled at him, “You did it,” she said and they both looked back at the tree behind him.

“I did it,” he was nodding thoughtfully, looking at the flames.

“It’s good to have you back,” she whispered and rested her head on his shoulder.

“It’s good to be back,” he whispered back and turned his head as if to kiss the top of hers. But he didn’t, to Nimue’s disappointment.

For a while, they just admired the Tree, seemingly unaware of the crowd surrounding them.

“Oi!” Squirrel’s voice reached them from where the boy was impatiently pacing along the shore. They looked at him. He was waving his arms to get their attention. “Are you coming or going to grow a family over there?!” he shouted at them. Some cheering and wolf-whistling could be heard, people laughed. Embarrassed Nimue looked at blushing Lancelot.

“Shall we?” she asked shyly. He nodded.

She was preparing to reach out to the Hidden once again when she noticed him standing at the very edge of the lake. He had the Sword in his hand and was intently staring into the dark depths of water. Before she could warn him about the dangers hidden beneath, Lancelot mumbled something unintelligible and let go of the Sword, letting in fall into the water.

“No!” Nimue, still on her knees, tried to catch it but was too late. “What have you done?!” she got up, feeling anger rising in her so quickly she had to ball her hands up to stop herself from saying something she would regret later.

“Trust me,” Lancelot said, looking at her calmly.

“It’s not about trust!” she growled, “The Sword isn’t yours to decide its fate, Lancelot. Without it, I cannot use my magic, I’m powerless!” she looked at the man incredulously. How could he not understand it? That Sword was the only thing that made her a queen! Without it, she was just a common Fey girl.

“How did you get onto the island, Nimue?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“What? What does it have to do with…” she frowned at him.

“How?” he insisted.

“I reached out to the Hidden and they answered my call,” she explained patiently, though she felt quite impatient with him at this moment.

“Did you have the Sword with you when you did it?” he asked equally patiently.

Nimue’s facial expression morphed from anger into amazement, “No,” she whispered.

“Well, now you know you don’t need a crutch to create your magic,” he smiled gently, taking a step towards her, “You’re the queen because of the power within you, not some artifact,” he tilted her chin up with his fingers, “And never let anyone, you included, convince you otherwise… my Queen.”

They looked into each other’s eyes for the longest of moments, until someone shouted from the shore, “Oh, will you kiss the girl already, lad!?”

Lancelot immediately let go of her and respectfully took a step back, mumbling apologies, looking at his feet. Why was he always like that? One moment he treated her with the tenderness that gave her hope, the next – he acted like a soldier that stepped out of the line. It was exhausting. _We will need to talk…_

She didn’t finish her thought because a low rumble was heard from deep beneath the liquid surface. The water around the island starting violently rippling, foaming, and bubbling. The earth under their feet started quaking. Some hazy shapes appeared in the water and mere moments later, a bright light shone from the bottom of the lake, illuminating the entire reservoir and uncovering the most astonishing view of underwater structures, caves, and creatures swirling and rolling around in between the gently floating plants.

From where they stood, Nimue could see the thick roots of the Fire Tree reaching to the very bottom of this deep lake. It was so stunning, she didn’t see the hexagonal stone columns rising to the surface and creating a solid path linking the island with the mainland. Only when she felt Squirrel brushing against her while running into Lancelot’s arms, she noticed the causeway, and Merlin, Lady Evaine, and Hector rushing towards them.

However, before any of them were able to say a word, the lake changed again. A fine layer of mist rapidly covered its entire surface of now calm water and soon, nine figures slowly emerged and hovered over the surface. They all seemed to be women, otherworldy alluring with the translucent veils covering their heads and bodies. They were unmoving and silent. _They are waiting for something_ , Nimue thought.

And soon enough, another figure appeared soundlessly. As she was rising from the water, her light-reflecting glossy dress was lifting the mist from the lake with every inch. The woman’s head was adorned with a sleek glass crown and her hair was impossibly long and cascading like a waterfall. She was indescribably beautiful but that beauty felt like an illusion. There was something dark lurking underneath the surface of her perfect face.

 _It’s the Lady of the Lake_ , Nimue realised and moved close to Lancelot. For protection? To protect him? She wasn’t sure. She just needed to be close to him right now.

Lancelot was facing the Fairy Queen, motionless, caught in some sort of enchantment. The Lady drew near him and revealed the Sword of Power she was hiding in her skirts. Nimue’s eye widened in surprise and fear.

“Welcome home, Lancelot du Lac,” the Lady looked at the glowing runes on the blade lovingly, “Your mission is accomplished, my boy. The Sword is with us,” she raised the weapon in both hands, looking blankly at the Ash man, “You can rest now,” she smiled cruelly and thrusted the sword at Lancelot forcefully.

* * *

Lancelot couldn’t tear his eyes off the majestic creature in front of him. Not because of her beauty but because of the memories suddenly flooding his consciousness. All the great ones and all the painful ones. All the times he was praised and awarded for doing things the right way, and all the times he was punished and berated for not keeping up with what was required of him. But, for a while, the island was his home and he grew to love it dearly. He felt safe there. He didn’t feel like a demon there.

He was told by the Lady of the Lake he was special and important. Yet, she dumped him and his brother on the shore, saying his destiny awaited and that the bleak times ahead of him, would come to an end when he’d be back on the island again. Was this _it_ then? Would he never have to be tormented ever again?

He hoped.

But that hope was annihilated when he saw the Lady raising the Sword to strike him down. When he saw the merciless expression on her face, all he could think was, _It’s over. It’s finally over._

He closed his eyes and saw lightning behind his closed eyelids. He was ready.

But the strike never came. Lancelot opened his eyes and saw Merlin’s staff right in front of him, blocking the Sword from piercing his heart.

“Enough, Viviane!” the sorcerer commanded. The Lady recoiled, dropping the Sword, and gasped in shock upon seeing the man. “You’ve done enough,” he said quietly this time, picked up the Sword and gave it to Nimue who immediately readied herself to strike as he conjured up some lightning and pointed his staff at the queen, waiting for her next move.

The queen shook off the initial surprise and chuckled darkly, “Well, well, well… Looks like our sweet little Fire Prince got some mighty protectors,” she cooed, “What did they promise you, my child? The belonging and acceptance you so desperately seek? And you think you’ve found it?” she mocked Lancelot, “I promise you, you haven’t. They will use you just like the clergymen did. And then, they will get rid of you because to them, you’re broken and unworthy…just like you were to your father.”

“That’s a lie!” Nimue said with anger, standing up from her kneeling position. Then she turned to mortified Lancelot, “Don’t listen to her. She’s wrong. She’s so wrong!” she said with tears in her pleading eyes, her lips trembling.

“Come with us, my sweet Lancelot,” the Lady tempted, ignoring the young woman, and reached out to him with her both arms, “Come with us and you’ll never suffer another day of pain and loneliness,” at that, the nine Maidens surrounded him in an effort to tempt him into going with them. They grabbed his hands and shoulders and pulled him gently towards the lake while swirling around him and chanting unintelligible song-like words.

He felt the need to follow them, he felt the duty to obey the Queen. He even took a few steps toward the edge but then he looked at Nimue, who said, sobbing, “Lancelot, you promised…you promised you’d come back to me,” her voice was filled with anguish, “You promised,” she whispered through tears.

“Don’t listen to her, my sweet boy,” the Fairy Queen warned him, “She doesn’t care. Just like your father didn’t care. Like your Folk don’t…”

“Oh, piss off, you wicked hag!” Percival suddenly interjected and threw a stone at the Queen. At first, she was so astonished she didn’t react, but then she called for her Maidens to attack the boy and that made Lancelot shake off the weird semi-hypnotised state he was in completely.

He was acting on instinct and hope it would be enough. Luckily, focusing on the fire within him and whispers came to him as easily as breathing. His hands burst into green flames – he was ready. Nimue joined him in mounting the defenses. She summoned the Airmid’s vines and he set them on fire which rapidly, like a blast, pushed the Maidens back into the water.

But Nimue wasn’t finished yet. Her vines viciously attacked the Fairy Queen, twined around her, trapped her, and dragged back onto the island.

“You are a manipulative enchantress who groomed an orphaned child to become a tool of your will.” the witch hissed, “You are no queen. You are not worthy of reigning over the Fey,” she said in a dangerously quiet voice. “You are not worthy of Lancelot’s loyalty,” she spat right into the Lady’s face and ripped the glass crown off her head. “You’re just an old bitter witch, nothing more,” she finished calmly and threw the crown onto the ground. It shattered into thousands of pieces which dissolved into water upon hitting the grassy floor.

Viviane gasped and stared at Nimue in shock for a long time, then as if all the will to fight left her, she hung her head and sighed. She suddenly looked like a tired old woman, not a seductive fairy from mere moments earlier.

The vines retreated and the dethroned queen fell to her knees. Merlin rushed to help her get up and said, “It is for the best, my dear. It’s time for the new queen to take the reigns,” there he looked at his daughter with a smile.

The Lady looked at the Fey girl with sadness and asked, “Are you ready for an eternity of loneliness, girl?”

Seeing Nimue’s stunned reaction, Lancelot came to her side and said, “She has our loyalty and love,” then he turned to her, “You won’t be lonely…you’ll have Merlin and Percival, and Arthur…and… and me,” he finished with a whisper, feeling the woman beside him relaxing as she looked deep into his eyes with trust and hope.

“Arthur?” Nimue, suddenly, frowned confused.

She didn’t get any answer as Merlin said, “Viviane, leave the Fey world to the new generation," he commanded, "Your time is over. There is nothing for you here anymore." The sorcerer wrapped his arm around the fairy's shoulder and said with a sardonic smile. "Now, you and I will have a chat that’s been coming for almost three hundred years.”


	13. Quiet Moments

##  [ ](https://sta.sh/0286099tsfnh)

“You’ve always loved this spot, nephew,” Lancelot turned towards the voice of Lady Evaine, who was climbing an old ash’s tangled roots he was sitting on. She sat down next to him, smiled wistfully and said, “You used to say this was your throne and that one day you’d be a king, and this,” she waved her hand towards the Glade below, “would be your dominion,” she chuckled.

Lancelot smiled and nodded slowly, looking towards the sky. They were basking in the late afternoon sun and sounds coming from the Glade where people were relaxing and celebrating after the bizarre and tense morning. He enjoyed this moment.

There were already tales being told of the _Ash King_ and Fey Queen who saved the Fairy Realm and restored the once-great Ash Clan to its full glory. They banished the evil Queen and ruled together peacefully.

 _The Ash King_. He chuckled to himself.

“What’s so funny?” his aunt looked at him affectionately.

“Nothing,” he shook his head, still smiling, “Just something I heard earlier. I guess we are in the middle of making up new stories for the generations to come.”

“Ah, the legend of the Ash King and _his_ Fey Queen,” she pursed her lips trying not to smile but her eyes were full of mirth.

“Ridiculous,” he snorted, feeling unwanted heat rising up his neck.

“I don’t know… there was a crown, even two, involved after all. And you saved this Fey land and your clan. You saved Britannia’s Fey too. And _your_ Fey Queen protected you like a she-wolf protects her pup…AND she dethroned that cranky old witch,” she chuckled lightly. “You and the girl seem like pretty legitimate candidates to become a legend and all the events make a nice _fairytale_. The question is, whether there will be a happy ending?” she winked at embarrassed Lancelot and laughed loudly, enough for quite a few heads to turn in their direction.

One of which was Nimue’s. She looked at him directly with a furrowed brows and sadness in her eyes. It was his fault.

Once Merlin disappeared with Lady Viviane into the Valley of No Return, Lancelot bolted from the island, from the Glade. He ran to the harbour and just sat at the end of a jetty, needing some time to think, to digest everything that had happened. He was scared, confused, and cautiously hopeful for his future.

He knew then he had made a big mistake by leaving Nimue behind. She needed him to reassure her she was worthy and cherished for who she is, not despite it. But he didn’t feel he was worthy of the magnificence ascribed to him and he couldn’t stand all the awestruck people looking at him like he was some kind of deity, his aunt and cousins included. It was selfish of him. He knew. But he had to find a quiet spot to centre himself.

Now, hours later, he was looking into those sad eyes and hated himself. He should stay by her side and be there for all the celebrations. It would be heartbreaking to watch her by Arthur’s side, just like it was now… but he owed her his presence and loyalty, and sooner he’d learn his place, the better. 

So they both were just gazing at each other until Arthur said something and she tore her eyes away and they left to join the festivities. Lancelot followed Nimue with his eyes.

“That bad, huh?” the woman sitting beside him tilted her head and looked at him kindly. He didn’t even have to answer that. “Will you do something about it?” his aunt asked.

“No, I won’t. She’s Arthur’s after all,” he said quietly, hanging his head down and pressing his lips into a thin line, “I’m fully aware of how foolish my feelings are. That’s why I try to stay away so I don’t make it worse or embarrass myself. Besides I have nothing to offer but my depressing life baggage and nobody needs _that_. I only hope Nimue will be happy and fulfilled as she deserves. And that she’ll allow me to stay by her side and serve her…because she is my Queen,” his voice broke. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm down.

Lady Evaine observed the couple below for a while and said, “Are you sure about that? They don’t seem to be…” she shook her head, “Never mind,” she patted his hand like she’d used to do when he’d been a little boy, confiding in her and looking for advice. “I’m sure everything will be fine. Give it some time, my dear boy. I have a feeling that things are not quite as they seem,” she smiled at him and nudged him with her shoulder.

He nodded solemnly, looked into the distance, and said, wanting to change the subject, “So, what’s going on, my lady?” he glanced at the woman and sew her raising her eyebrows in question, “You wouldn’t come all the way here just to console my broken heart. There must be something else going on.”

“Can’t an old woman just want to spend some time with her long-lost keen?” she asked innocently. He stared at her blankly. “Fine, there is something we need to discuss, although I thought that maybe you’d want to spend more time with your people before going back to business,” she shrugged and dangled her legs like a little girl, looking up towards the tree canopy.

Lancelot felt the warm and dear memories washing over him. He had missed his aunt dearly, he realised. Not only because she reminded him of his beloved mother but because she had always been there for him when he’d visited her home in Gaunnes or she’d visited his, in Gennewis. She would distract him whenever his parents were engaged in yet another angry fight, usually about him and his _demonic presence_.

His father had gotten babtised before Lancelot learnt to walk and ever since then he would loathe his only son’s very existence. There were gossips about King Ban purposefully bedding a woman outside the wedlock so he could have an heir to the throne after _the cursed child_ was thrown into the pits of Hell, as per the Church’s advice. A seven-year-old Lancelot learnt about all that from his older cousin – Bors, who at the time, did so out of malice but unintentionally helped the boy understand king’s motives.

So a seed of doubt was sown in the _cursed_ prince’s mind. Because there had to be some truth to it, otherwise his father wouldn’t detest him so much! There had to be something wrong with him. Demons, most likely, lived inside him. He always could hear their unintelligible whispers swirling around his mind, sometimes soothing and calming, other times angry and vengeful. But Lancelot had never been afraid of those voices and that, surely, had to be proof he was evil. His father told him. His uncle Bors told him. Father Carden told him. He was an abomination.

His beautiful and wise mother, her sister, and later, Lady of the Lake told him otherwise though. Lady Elaine, holding her son tightly while he was weeping into her hair, would assure him there was nothing wrong with him. That he was special, he should cherish and never be ashamed of it.

But later, Father Carden explained to him that those women were witches sent by Satan Himself. That they wanted to tempt him into becoming His dark disciple and a weapon bringing death and destruction to the world of men. Lancelot wasn’t convinced his mother nor his aunt were the evil witches wanting him to embrace the Devil.

That single thought and the Ash pin he’d kept for all those years, were his great secret. Even when he became the very _weapon bringing death and destruction_ , the Church’s _dark disciple_ , he couldn’t let go of those two things. Even when he had come to truly believe that the only way the Fey, he included, could be redeemed and saved, was by fire and with their blood.

Lancelot didn’t want to venture into why he had thought that was the right way of thinking at the time because he’d need to examine the past three years of the suffering and death of the innocents caused by him. He wasn’t ready for that internal battle yet. But maybe one day he would be…

“How have you been, auntie Eva?” he asked lightly in an attempt to turn his mind away from his past.

“Surprisingly good,” she smiled and nodded as if reassured with her own words, “There have been good times and some not so good… but we've managed to build this solid community.”

“How come you’re here, in Gennewis?” he was curious about what had happened that lead _all_ the Ash Folk to this place.

“I made a deal with King Claudas after he took over both Gennewis and then Gaunnes,” Lady Evaine said quietly, “He would let all of us live in the Enchanted Forest, unbothered. In exchange, neither I nor my sons and their sons’ sons would ever attempt to take the throne of neither of the two kingdoms back.”

“Do you want it back?”

“Me? No. I just want our people to be able to live in peace…” she paused for a moment and sighed, “…but, I’m afraid it’s a matter of time when Rome will order Claudas to get rid of us…especially now when you arrived here with the all the Fey. Obviously, the king doesn’t know that the Ash Folk’s magic is restored” she smiled happily at Lancelot, placed a kiss on his shoulder and rubbed the spot with her hand, “But I’m sure he’ll know about your arrival soon enough.”

Lancelot felt bad for not considering the consequences of them coming to Gennewis, “I’m sorry I brought it upon you. I…”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” she scoffed him, then took his hand in her both and pressed it to her face “I forever will be grateful for having you back, my dear dear Lancelot.” Lady Evaine looked just like his mother at this moment and that rendered him speechless.

He took a shaky breath and leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead, “Is there anything we could do to prevent the inevitable?” he asked.

“Ah,” she looked at him coyly, “I wasn’t supposed to talk to you about it just yet…”

“But here we are, talking about it,” he smirked, “So you may as well tell me.”

The woman sighed and said, “In order to secure our home, we would need to take Gennewis’ throne back and make it ours…well… _yours_.”

“But you swore to Claudas you wouldn’t do it…” confused Lancelot looked at her curiously.

“Yes, I did. And my sons did. But…” she looked at conspiratorially, “You didn’t, nor did Hector,” she chuckled seeing his growing astonishment, “And that’s the thing I wanted to talk to you about, my boy.”

He shook his head because he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “You want me to dethrone Claudas and become the next king of Gennewis?”

“Yes,” was all his aunt said.

“Huh,” was all he said, too dumbfounded to form a cohesive thought.

“We have to do it, nephew,” she said in a no-nonsense tone, looking seriously into his eyes, “That’s our only chance to keep our home…and our lives. _And_ we have a real chance since you came back to us and gave us back the Fire.”

Lancelot thought about it for a minute. He didn’t know anything about the political or military arrangements in the kingdom. But he trusted the woman sitting next to him so he didn’t question her when told their situation could become dire any day now. He felt it was his duty to protect all of those people – he promised his Queen after all. He also felt personally responsible for the wellbeing of the Fey from both sides of the sea.

Then another, unrelated, thought hit him, “How come any of you don’t have the clan markings?” he asked suspiciously, “The magic is back after all. I can feel it with every fibre of my being. I can feel it so strongly, it makes me lightheaded every time I close my eyes to focus.”

“I can feel it too…” Lady Evaine admitted with a shaky voice and shining eyes, “It’s so powerful and feels so wonderful,” she whispered, tears spilling over and running down her cheeks, “And it’s all thanks to you, my dear Lancelot,” she smiled tenderly, wiping her cheeks, “I only hope Elaine was given a chance to feel it too. She always believed this day would come,” she took his hand again and squeezed it, then continued, “As for the markings, we’d need to ask Baudwin about that. He’s the Keeper of Fey Wisdom after all,” she shrugged lightly, “But I’m not worried about that. We are connected to the Hidden once again and that’s more than enough for me!”

Before he managed to ask more, she hopped off the root and said briskly, holding her hand out to him, “Let’s go. It’s time to join the festivities. And tomorrow we’ll talk more about the plan of action,” he took her hand and they both climbed down the roots.

Once they were back at the lakeshore, Lady Evaine looked towards Nimue, then put her hand on Lancelot’s cheek and gently caressed it, saying, “You know, it’s good to talk and clear things out because sometimes we misinterpret them in our heads,” she smiled at him, “Go, Lancelot. Talk to her… about anything. Just talk to her,” she looked back at Nimue who was glancing at them and blushed when she got caught, “And you need to apologise for abandoning her like that, young man,” her attempt at being stern was ruined by clear love in her eyes.

“What do I say?” he whispered.

“What do you want to say?” she asked with a knowing smile and walked away to join her sons.

 _I want to say that she’s everything_ , he thought and walked towards Nimue, convinced those words would never be said out loud.

* * *

As soon as Nimue noticed Lancelot walking towards her, she panicked and darted towards the Valley. He looked determined. She was terrified. So she ran, knowing he would follow eventually. He had to. They both knew by now there were things they had to talk about.

She understood why he had left so suddenly after Lady Viviane conceded her reign. It didn’t make it hurt any less but she did understand. She didn’t want to be selfish and admit she needed his presence to cope with all that was happening. But Nimue _did_ need him. Somehow he had become her anchor like floating driftwood becomes an oasis for someone drowning in the sea. The few minutes they had spent talking before he disappeared into the Tree gave her more courage, determination, and assurance than all of the encouragements of her advisers since she had become the queen. Fueled by his words, she felt she could do anything!

Nimue stopped at a spot where she could see the intimidating castle, somehow dominating over the landscape despite being far away. She sat down on the mossy ground, and closed her eyes, focusing on the whispers and the energy flowing through her surroundings. Soon enough she heard soft footsteps behind her and took a long, deep breath, waiting.

“Nimue?” Lancelot's soft voice was quiet and hesitant.

She looked back at him and noticed he was wearing a black leather tunic and boots now. His hair was gathered back in a bun. She remembered she was still carrying his weapons so she stood up and hastily unwrapped the belts from her torso and handed him the scabbards. He took them, trapping her hand under his.

For the longest time, they were just looking at each other wordlessly. This moment was so profoundly intimate, she felt a lump in her throat forming and stinging tears gathering behind her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Lancelot said simply and gently wiped tears that started rolling down her cheeks, pulled her close, and rested his forehead on hers, closing his eyes. They just stayed like that for another while, “I’m so sorry.”

Nimue heard his broken whisper and opened her eyes just to see tears carving their way through the weeping markings below his eyes. Her fingers tenderly traced them.

She wasn’t sure what he was apologising for but she figured it was much deeper than just being sorry for the morning events. _Oh, Lancelot_ , she thought tenderly.

He covered her hand with his, pressed it against his cheek, nuzzled into it, and placed a firm kiss inside of her palm. Then, as if remembering himself, he stepped away and took his weapons off her.

“Thank you for minding them for me,” he said formally, bowing his head. And just like that, the vulnerable man was gone and the stoic Monk was back.

“Don’t,” she said determined not to let him crawl back into his shell. “Don’t do it, Lancelot. Talk to me,” she pleaded.

He looked at her unsure, maybe even embarrassed of his emotional outburst. He had to have so many repressed emotions he’d been trying to control and hide all his life. She was almost impressed by how well he managed to keep any signs of vulnerability bottled up and tucked away from the world. But Nimue wanted him to know he didn’t have to hide under the emotionless mask anymore.

She took his hand and pulled him towards a flat boulder where they could sit. He followed without any resistance.

Suddenly, he said, “I want to apologise for leaving you on your own back on the island. I…” he stared intently at the ground, picking at loose threads of his tunic’s hem, “…I’m not used to being in the centre of attention. I’ve usually stayed in the shadows, unnoticed. And all of that has happened recently is just overwhelming,” he looked up, his eyes pleading with her to understand him, “I needed to be alone for a while. I know I should’ve been there for you and I failed. I‘m sorry,” he hesitated and looked away, “But you had Arthur with you so I thought you wouldn’t mind me leaving.”

“That’s not the first time you mention Arthur amidst all that’s going on,” Nimue frowned, truly confused, “What does he have to do with anything?”

“What?” Lancelot seemed to be equally confused, “Well, he-he’s…” he stammered, “…he’s a…um… a very close person to you so…um… naturally, you would want him to be by your side at an important event, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, yes, of course I want people who are close to me to be by my side,” she had a feeling there was a hidden meaning in his words but couldn’t possibly guess what, “You surely have people who are that close to you too?” she asked shyly, her heart’s thumping loud in her ears.

There was a long pause. The woman nearly lost hope he’d say anything, her disappointment was growing rapidly. _Well, what did you expect after the way you’ve been treating him?_ she scolded herself, deciding not to give in to her sadness.

Nimue said with a lightness she didn’t feel in her heart, “Of course you do! There is Lady Evaine, Squirrel, your cousins, maybe even…”

“You,” Lancelot said it so quietly she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. She looked at him, sure that even he could hear her heart galloping in her chest. He was looking at her with wide, fearful eyes, “You are important to me,” this time his voice sounded confident.

She just stared at him, not daring to breathe. She knew that statement could mean many things but it filled her with wild joy anyway.

Nimue took his hand and held it on her lap, saying, “You are important to me too,” seeing the doubt written across his face, she continued, “You are and I want you to know that. I also need to apologise to you for the way I’ve been treating you. It wasn’t fair, regardless of your past doings. You’ve been trying to change your ways so hard and I should’ve acknowledged it. Instead, I refused to see it and lashed out…because I was afraid of how you make me feel,” her eyes filled with tears, she bit her lip, looking at their joined hands, “For the first time, I met someone who seemed to accept me for being... _me_. Someone,” she looked at him and smiled, “who makes me feel safe, makes me feel worthy of my new position and proud of being the Witch.”

“You don’t need me to know all that. To be all that,” he said, lightly squeezing her hand.

“But I do…or at least, I did,” she chuckled lightly, “Now, after all the fancy titles you gave me, I may become too arrogant.”

“You worked hard for all the titles, my Queen,” he smiled.

They sat in silence for a while, gazing into each other’s eyes. Then, suddenly, Nimue threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, hoping he would return the embrace. And she wasn’t disappointed as his arms wrapped around her back and pressed her to his chest as he moved her onto his lap. She rested her head on his shoulder and they simply enjoyed each other’s presence.

That was the feeling she had been longing for her entire life – the enveloping warmth and the sense of belonging. A place where she felt safe and at peace. In his arms.

* * *

That feeling of fluttering in his stomach and fullness in his chest was something Lancelot had never experienced before. It was as much physical as it was emotional. Was that the feeling one felt when they’d found their home in another person?

He wouldn’t flatter himself that Nimue reciprocated any of that tenderness he felt for her. But she truly cared for him and that was more than he could ever hope for. For the first time, maybe ever, he felt… happy?

He took a deep breath and tightened the warm embrace they were in. And smiled. Truly, happily smiled, grateful for meeting the little boy who pushed him onto this path.

The thought of Percival made him sober up a bit and look towards the castle. “I promised Percival I would show and tell him about the castle,” he murmured, his fingers lazily drawing circled on Nimue’s back.

She hummed, content, “Then you have to do that. He will never let you forget it,” she chuckled, lifted her and looked into his eyes, “And I want to hear it too, _Your Highness_ ,” she teased him, her eyes full of mirth.

 _So beautiful_ , was all he could think. She blushed as if she heard that thought, and slipped off his lap to sit next to him, her shoulder pressed to his.

“Hector told us about your past,” she said quietly, out of nowhere.

“Oh,” he wasn’t sure whether that was good news or not, “And what did he say?” he asked apprehensively.

Nimue told him everything she had learnt. Lancelot was grateful to his brother for doing it as he wasn’t sure if he would be able to delve into his own life’s story. But his queen had many questions and he attempted to answer them the best he could. He told her everything about his parents, the time he spent with Lady Viviane, and then, with the Red Paladins. There was a lot to discuss. And they did discuss every detail of his life. Then, they talked about Nimue’s life, her fears and hopes, her family, and her magic.

At the end of the hours-long conversation, involving a whole suite of emotions, he felt an immense relief like a huge weight was lifted off his chest. The knowledge that now, there was somebody who knew him so intimately, was weirdly soothing. He only hoped she felt the same. And judging by her calm and gentle smile, she did.

“Now you need to swear to me you won’t tell anyone about anything that was said here,” she said jokingly but then got serious, “I’ve never told anyone, even Pym, most of what I’ve just told you. And I hope you feel you can trust me too.”

“I do trust you, Nimue,” he answered immediately with all sincerity he had.

“I’m glad, Lancelot,” she smiled at him and then looked back at the castle, “So, what’s the story with the castle?”

His mind went back to the conversation he'd had with his aunt. Something indeed had to be done about the situation with Claudas. Once the king knew about them, about _him_ , he’d send his army to destroy everything the Ash Folk had been building for years. He shared all this with the woman sitting next to him instead of telling her the history of the castle. 

She was listening attentively and said, “How else could you take over the kingdom without an army though?”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head, “I don’t know much about the situation here.”

“If only you had spies who could sneak into the castle grounds and gather some information…”

“Please don’t mention it around Percival. That little brat would probably just do it whether we would allow him or not,” Lancelot said and they both laughed.

“What about your cousins? Would they be able to help?” she asked. The man fidgeted with the strap of his belt and didn’t answer, “You don’t trust them, do you? Not after what they did,” she whispered and then said angrily, “No wonder. After all, their actions nearly destroyed your life!”

“It’s not that I don’t trust them,” he said hesitantly, “I’m just being cautious… But you may be right. Maybe I should ask them.”

"Talk to Bors. He’s your aunt’s right-hand and may know something helpful. Only then we'll be able to decide the best course of action,” she rested he chin on the heel of her hand and started tapping it with the fingers.

“There you are!” Percival’s voice startled them both, “We’ve been looking for you for a long time,” the boy wasn’t happy about that at all. He turned around and shouted, “They’re over here!”

Moments later, Hector and Bors showed up, holding torches, as it was getting dark already. Hector looked relieved. Percival was pouting. Bors looked curiously at them.

“May we join you?” he asked with a smile. Nimue looked at the man next to her and nodded.

“Be our guests,” Lancelot said, “Actually, there is something I wanted to talk to you about, Bors,” he looked at his cousin seriously, then looked around, “Where is Lionel?”

“I don’t know, he disappeared soon after we discussed _the plan_ with our mother,” Bors at the cousin pointedly, then sighed, “He often does that. Wonders off for long hours. That lad is living in his own world,” he shook his head.

“So you know about her idea then…” Lancelot rubbed his chin.

“What idea?” Hector took interest in the conversation.

“About taking back the Gennewisian throne,” the older of brothers said.

“Really?!” Percival and Hector exclaimed in unison.

“Are we really invading your own castle, Lancelot?” the child said, excited.

“It isn’t _my_ castle, boy.”

“Fine, _soon-to-be-yours-again_ castle then,” the boy said cheekily.

“Before we talk, I need to say something, Lance,” Bors interrupted the banter, looking seriously at his cousin. “I know you said there was nothing to apologise for but I feel otherwise. And although there aren’t words that could sufficiently describe how sorry and how ashamed I am, I want to do it anyway,” his voice was shaking, “Especially now, when I know of what happened to you under Carden’s guardianship.”

He knelt in front of his cousin and bowed his head, “I’m sorry from the bottom of my heart and I hope you’ll allow me to prove myself to you, cousin,” he put his hand over the heart and continued, “I pledge my loyalty to you and I hope that I can be of service in any way you wish.”

Lancelot was stunned and only when he felt Nimue’s hand on his arm, he snapped out of the shock and grabbed Bors by the shoulders, saying, “Thank you, Bors. That means a lot to me,” he clapped him on his shoulder, “But you are not my servant. We are a family. And now, we need to decide, together, what we will do about King Claudas.”

They spent a long time discussing all possibilities. Hector and Percival listened without interrupting. Nimue asked many questions, while Lancelot and Bors talked tactics, army positions and possible consequences. Everything seemed to lead to either complete catastrophe or serious losses, until Nimue – the resourceful Fey girl that she was, came up with an idea.

“How about not getting involved in any fighting?” the men looked at her like she’d grown another head. She rolled her eyes, “Lancelot, you told me about the secret tunnel to the castle and the passages behind the walls of the castle. Would Claudas know about them? And what are the chances they are guarded?”

The man looked at her like she’d just dropped from the heavens, then he smiled widely at her, “Nimue, you are a genius! You’re…”

“Oh, here we go again,” Percival rolled his eyes, getting everyone’s attention, “First, this one over here, “ he pointed at Hector, “gushes over Pym like she is Danu herself,” he sighed and gestured towards Lancelot, “Now, this one over here, is doing exactly the same thing over Nimue,” he shook his head, “I don’t know anymore. You have worms for brains, the both of you,” he grumbled at the brothers.

Embarrassed Lancelot looked at Hector and Nimue. He was pretty sure his face probably matched theirs with its shade of red. Bors appeared to have a great time, cackling.

“Can we focus here, for now?” the Monk said, sternly looking at the boy.

“I don’t know. Can we, Lancelot?” the infuriating kid raised his eyebrow arrogantly and folded his arms on his chest.

The man took a deep breath, wishing the heat in his cheeks away, and said, “Nimue, you’re right,” he gave Percival a warning look, “We could sneak into the castle, even to the king’s bed-chamber, unnoticed as I doubt he knows about the secret corridors. Our father certainly didn’t.”

“Remove the king, win the kingdom,” Bors was nodding slowly, staring thoughtfully into the flame of the torch.

“Exactly! And we will need only a few people to accomplish this,” Nimue added, happy to be of help.

Lancelot looked at the rest seriously and said “It’s important that whatever has been said here, stays between us. Does everyone understand?” seeing them nodding, he added, “We just need to find a couple of volunteers to go with me,” seeing Percival opening his mouth to say something, he said, “Not you, Percival. Nimue, Hector, I need you to mind that gremlin,” they nodded in agreement. The boy was sulking. “You, Bors, cannot go for obvious reasons,” the man also nodded.

Lancelot continued after a moment of contemplation, “We’ll do it tonight so Claudas doesn’t have time to gather his armie at the castle. Hopefully, this will be quick and relatively peaceful.”

“How will we know it’s done?” Nimue asked, furrowing her brow.

“We will light the beacon on the Eastern Tower if we succeed.”

“If?” she looked pale when she stood up rapidly, clenching her fists.

Lancelot looked at Bors who nodded, understanding the silent plea. The man, Hector and Percival left for the Glade.

Once alone with Nimue, he took her hand in his both and said, “Nimue, look at me, my lo…” he stopped himself before he said something regrettable. He gently took her face in his hands and tilted it so he could look into her eyes, “You need to listen to me carefully now because it is really important.”

He swallowed hard and continued, “If I don’t come back, I need you and Merlin to talk to Lady Viviane and ask her to invite you to the island. This is the only way the non-Fey folk will gain access to Avalon. If anything goes wrong and I won’t be able to light the beacon, you take everyone there without a moment of hesitation because Claudas will be coming for you soon after,” he looked into her scared eyes and lean down to kiss her forehead, “You’ve got this, my Queen,” he smiled tenderly and stepped away, grabbing the torch, “Let’s go back and find me some warriors.”

He started walking back to the Glade when Nimue pulled him back to her, grabbed his face in her hands, and kissed him fiercely. It wasn’t a gentle first-time peck on the lips. It was a desperate, firm kiss with their faces nearly melting into each other.

Before he managed to wrap his arms around her, the kiss was over. Yet, she still held onto face, growling right into his mouth, “Don’t you dare not come back to me. Understood?”

He nodded, too stunned to reacted in any other way.

“Good,” she whispered and placed a gentle kiss on kiss stubble-covered chin before letting go of his face and walking away into the darkness.

He was left there, surrounded by the warm light of the torch and a phantom feeling of her lips on his.


	14. The Kingdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The chapters published finally caught up with what's been written so far... So, I may need to change the update schedule to once a week. We'll see how it goes.
> 
> This chapter is the last of the (necessary to set thing up) slo-mo chapters for now. The time to get some shit done is coming next.  
> Thanks for sticking with my story!  
> .... I almost feel like I want to keep adding stuff so I don't have to say goodbye to my Fey babies 🥺

[ ](https://sta.sh/0bq824mdlqe)

“So, how long will it take to get to the tunnel, Monk?” Lancelot was taken out of his reverie by Red Spear’s voice. She sat down next to him on the same boulder he was sitting with Nimue mere hours ago, rested her chin on the hand and watched him sharpening his sword.

He stopped and looked at her for a long moment. She looked at him. Red Spear, _Guinevere_ , Lancelot remembered hearing her name once before. He had heard she was a formidable opponent in any form of a fight – verbal or physical. She was smart, strong, and cunning. She was well respected by her people, and now, by the Fey too. She was also a beautiful woman. All this… and yet her love for all the old legends, made her look so young, so naïve, and so charming. He liked her.

“Well under an hour. Getting there shouldn’t be a problem. Bors said Claudas is superstitious and keeps away from any Fey-connected places. What we don’t know is what’s in the tunnel,” he said.

“Whatever it is, we’ll beat the living light out of it,” Red Spear sounded confident in their fighting abilities. Suddenly her eyes went wide as she excitedly, “But imagine what we could do if we had one of the Avalon wyverns with us!? Or if you could use the green fire of yours as a weapon!”

Lancelot looked at her with an amused smirk, “You really like those tales, don’t you?”

She shrugged dismissively, “They kept me sane throughout my childhood so, yeah, I really like those tales.”

“I guess, there’s two of us then.”

“Not quite,” she murmured, “At least you got to live them, regardless of how miserable your life was for the most part.”

Lancelot nodded slowly and looked away, towards the castle, “True.”

“Do you think I’ll ever get to see the island?” she looked at him almost fearfully.

“You will one day… if we survive this mission,” he nodded towards the castle.

She stood up and looked at him expectantly. He followed and looked at her curiously when she shook his hand, “Thank you for allowing me to be part of all of it,” she said sincerely with tears in her eyes and hugged him.

Neither of them had any experience with any friendly human behaviour for most of their lives so their hug was rather on the awkward side.

“Am I interrupting something?” Arthur’s voice sounded sour. Was he angry with him for some reason? Well, angrier than usual? Did Nimue told him about the kiss and now he was jealous?

“Yes, you are,” Red Spear said defiantly.

Lancelot looked at her surprised and then at Arthur, who was staring at him darkly. _Shit,_ was his only reaction.

He wasn’t sure what was going on but he was certain now that all the other man’s rage was turned towards him. And that was something he didn’t want to deal with now, moments before attempting to overthrow a king.

Why did he agree to take Arthur with him? They didn’t get along and now, after what had happened with Nimue, things would get only worse.

The kiss. _Stop thinking about the bloody kiss, you fool!_ he scolded himself. He tried not to get too excited and hopeful…especially when he still wasn’t sure about Nimue’s feelings. That kiss might be meaningless to her. _Focus!_

He shook the nagging thought off and said, “Let’s go. You know the plan. In, get the king and his family, make him announce his abdication, light the beacon, get our people to the castle, and we’re done,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. Red Spear nodded. Arthur barely nodded. Lancelot sighed.

Sometime later, the three of them quietly slipped into a secret tunnel, hidden within the dense shrubbery at the base of the castle walls.

* * *

In the mid morning, Merlin was strolling between various groups of people still celebrating… well, many things at this point. The Fey from Britannia seemed to adapt very well. Especially the Moonwings, who thrived once again in the ancient treetops of Enchanted Forest. The sorcerer nodded to Yeva, who had her falcon back with her and waved to Cora – the Faun clan’s leader, before turning towards Nimue, who was sitting nearby with Lady Evaine. They were engaged in a quiet conversation. When Nimue noticed him, she gestured for him to join them.

“Where have you been all day and night, father?” she asked with a smile. A tired and forced smile. _Something happened_ , he decided.

“Just catching up with Lady Viviane and deciding what’s the best course of action from now on,” he smiled at his daughter and took her hand, “She won’t stand in your way, my dear,” he assured Nimue.

“Good,” Lady Evaine said sternly, narrowing her eyes, “Because none of us would accept her as our Queen after she tried to murder my nephew.” All three nodded in agreement.

“So, what’s going on here?” he asked curiously.

“Oh, you know… celebrating the moments of freedom, talking about plans for our people,” Nimue said nonchalantly, “Waiting for Arthur, Red Spear, and Lancelot to dethrone King Claudas…” her voice broke at the mention of Lancelot. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The older woman rubbed her back gently in motherly support.

Merlin raised his eyebrows and looked between the women, not knowing how he should react to the news, “So… are happy about it or not?” he asked cautiously.

“We are very happy about it,” assured this Lady Evaine, “But also very worried something will go wrong.”

Women told him everything about the mission. Nimue told him about Lancelot’s last words. Merlin would need to talk to Viviane very soon, just in case. He also worried about the Monk whom he grew to truly like and respect and he appreciated what the young man was doing for all of them.

“Well, we should probably find a good spot from where we can see the beacon and keep watch so we can move as soon as we receive the signal,” he said with confidence because he believed Lancelot was going to prevail.

“Squirrel, Hector, and Pym are keeping watch for now,” Lady Evaine said, getting up and readying herself to leave.

As if summoned, Squirrel ran out of the Valley shouting, “THE BEACON! THE BEACON IS LIT!”

Nimue gasped and looked at Merlin with a wide smiled and shining eyes, “He’s alive, father! Lancelot is alive!” she let out a sob and laughed.

He smiled at her and kissed her forehead. It looked like his daughter finally sorted her feeling out and committed to them. At this moment, she reminded him of Lenore – she had the same bright smile as her mother and the same eyes, sparkling with joy.

“Let’s go then!” he clapped his hands and looked around content, noticing Bors running towards them with a happy smile. “Ah, there you are, young man. Looks like Cerridwen brought us good fortune once again!” Merlin put his hands on the hips and sighed, then clapped the younger man on the back and said, “Grab your brother and we’ll be on our way.”

“I’ve no clue where he is,” Bors shrugged, “His loss,” he grinned and then took his mother in his arms, twirled her around and laughed, “Mom, we are free! Can you believe it?” both Lady Evaine and her son had tears in their eyes.

“Is there anything that boy of yours cannot do?” Merlin chuckled and winked at Nimue who blushed and smiled happily. The sorcerer gestured towards the Valley, bowed his head, and said, “Lead the way, my Queen.”

* * *

“You took your time,” Nimue chuckled at Squirrel’s grumbling when he saw them approaching the spot where they were keeping watch. Hector and Pym were excited and ready to go.

Nimue, Squirrel, and Lady Evaine were at the head of a long procession of warriors – both Fey and human, many Ash Folk, some clan leaders and those curious to see the grand castle.

The trek took a while but it was pleasant - people were singing and laughing, the Ash were telling the newcomers old stories about the castle and the kingdom.

The young queen had plenty of time to contemplate the new situation. She also enjoyed Lancelot’s aunt’s company. They talked about him as a boy, as the Weeping Monk, and finally, as the King of Gennewis.

“I have no doubts he doesn’t want to be seated on any throne,” Nimue said and both women chuckled at the thought.

“I know…but he has his duties towards the Fey and people of Gennewis,” Lady Evaine reminded her, then smiled, “I also do not doubt that, once our people are safe and settled in, and the situation is stable, he’ll run away from that throne like it’s made of thorns,” she looked at the giggling younger woman and took her hand, “He will run straight to _his_ Queen,” she whispered theatrically.

Said Queen looked at the woman, feeling the traitorous heat rising in her cheeks, the looked down at her feet, not able to hide a hopeful smile that blossomed at the thought of Lancelot wanting to be by her side more than to be the king of this beautiful place.

They approached the gates situated on the east side of the castle, which was built on the edge of a small cliff, overlooking the sandy beach, the foggy bay, and the Enchanted Forest.

Nimue wondered whether they’ll be treated by locals like they were in Grammaire. She hoped the people of Gennewis are more tolerant, after all, they let the Ash Folk live unbothered.

The moment the gates opened, her fear dissipated. They were welcomed by a cheering crowd, already in full celebration, despite the early hour. She was either gaping at the impressive surroundings or laughing in disbelief in turns, all the way to the castle courtyard where they were greeted by Arthur.

He was accompanied by a tall - even taller than Lancelot – man, wearing an ornate tunic and chest plate, and carrying a gold-crusted sword by his side.

Nimue looked at Arthur with a wide smile and threw herself into his arms, happy to see him unharmed.

“I knew you would succeed!” she laughed.

“No, you didn’t, you liar,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “When we were leaving you looked like you were seeing us for the last time…Thanks for believing in us, by the way,” he said sarcastically with a smile and stepped away.

Nimue looked around, looking for the others, then back at the man and asked, trying to keep the worry out of her voice, “Where are Lancelot and Red Spear?”

“They’re fine. They’re in the Great Hall. _Together_ ,” Arthur’s voice was taut as he said it. Nimue frowned at that as he continued, “The Monk is discussing …whatever there is to discuss with the remaining Council. Guinevere is at his side,” he finished sourly and pressed his lips into a thin line.

“Oh, don’t be silly, boy,” Lady Evaine scolded him, moving past him and turned to the other man, laughing in disbelief, “Galehaut? Is that really you?”

The man bowed most graciously and smiled at the woman, saying “Welcome back, my lady! It’s been too long since this grim fortress has seen someone of your exquisite beauty,” he finished with another low bow.

“You’re such a charmer, young man,” she giggled.

Nimue smiled, seeing the older woman blushing. Then she looked back at Arthur and felt an unpleasant pang of a feeling that suddenly had her stomach in knots. His words about Red Spear being with Lancelot right now were rattling around her head. _It cannot be_ , she shook her head in an attempt to fight off the wave of anger, disappointment, and sadness. 

Because she didn’t want to admit that the Queen of Fey was jealous. She also knew she had duties to her people now and couldn’t neglect them because of her personal misfortunes. So she straightened up and joined Lady Evaine.

“Nimue, may I introduce you to Galehaut – Lancelot’s childhood friend,” the older woman smiled at her.

“Galehaut, this is our Fey Queen who came here from Britannia and returned our dear Lancelot to us,” the woman said kindly.

“It’s an honour to meet you, Your Highness,” he bowed his head with respect and then grinned at Lady Evaine, “And I am the Grand Commander of Gennewisian army now,” he proudly puffed up his chest. Then he turned to Nimue with sparkling eyes, “I must say, it’s exciting to meet an actual Fey,” he smiled, “I know Lance is one but he’s never done anything remotely Fey’ish. Disappearing into the forest for whole days and coming back with fantastical stories was the closest thing.”

Nimue chuckled lightly, “What do you expect me to do?”

“Right now, I would love you to go inside and stop Lance from murdering his Council,” he said with mirth in his eyes, then bowed chivalrously and lead them inside.

* * *

Lancelot knew that everybody was here already, yet he couldn’t greet them personally, being withheld by a bunch of old farts. The moment Claudas announced _his_ decision to abdicate, they swarmed around the Ash man in an attempt to get into his graces. He hated it and hoped it would be over soon.

Suddenly, just as he was about to start screaming in despair or pull out his sword, he noticed Galehaut entering the Hall with his aunt and Nimue on each side. They were followed by Hector, Percival, Merlin, and other leaders.

The new king stopped paying attention to any words being said or the people surrounding him. His eyes were on the Fey Queen. She blushed and looked down. _Stop staring, you fool_ , he cringed internally.

He got up, ignoring the protest, and walked to her to greet her, his eyes never leaving the woman. Nobody else existed to him at this moment. It was only Nimue.

However, when he stopped a mere yard away, he didn’t know what to say. So they looked at each other shyly and said nothing until he heard his old friend snorting with laughter and Lady Evaine shushing him, “Shhh... You’ll startle them.”

Lancelot blinked a few times and cleared his throat, and said to the young woman in front of him, “It’s good to see you…um.. in good health,” he winced.

“Pfft…nice one, Monk,” Red Spear didn’t hold the sarcasm back.

He felt a sudden rush of heat in his cheeks but before he managed to utter another word, Nimue scoffed at the woman, “Oh, shut up you.”

The Viking gaped at the young queen in disbelief. Nimue just looked at him for a few moments and then seemed to relax. Why was she tense in the first place?

“I’m fine. We are fine. How are you, Lancelot?” she said softly, took a step forward and put her hand on his chest, then looked at Red Spear, who tilted her head slightly and narrowed her eyes. All of a sudden, something changed because the Nordic woman smiled and nodded to Nimue. _What is going on here?_ he thought confused.

Before he could answer Nimue’s question, Lady Evaine suggested, “We probably should get settled and talk.”

And so the long tables were brought out and set for a meal, the Gennwisians, the Fey and the Vikings sat together to celebrate the union.

Lancelot sat at the high table set up on the dais, along with Nimue on his right side and Lady Evaine on his left. Percival, Merlin, Arthur and Red Spear were seated on the Fey Queen’s side. Hector, Bors, and Galehaut – on his aunt’s. All other tables were positioned lengthways along the walls of the Hall. The Royal Council and the Fey Council were placed at the one closest to the dais.

“If only Lionel was here, it would be like the old times,” Hector said. The new king and his Commander exchanged looks in a silent agreement.

“What is it, my dear?” Lady Evaine sounded alarmed.

“We’ll talk later, my lady,” Lancelot said quietly.

“No, we will talk now. It clearly concerns my son,” she looked at his sternly.

“We’ll get there, auntie. Let’s just start from the beginning. Please?” he pleaded with the worried woman. She nodded in agreement and took a deep breath. “Arthur, would you mind telling about last night’s events, please?” he asked politely. He heard from Red Spear about the man’s talent for storytelling and speeches.

“Why won’t you do it? I’m sure Guinevere will gladly help you out,” Arthur said bitterly. The woman guffawed, making the man rapidly stand up, ready to leave. She momentarily calmed down, took his hand and also stood up.

“Sometimes you’re such an ass, Arthur,” she smiled, “But you’re my ass,” she said and kissed him to the cheers of their audience.

Lancelot was gaping at the couple in disbelief. Did it mean Nimue and Arthur weren’t…?

He suddenly felt like a fool for wasting so much time on trying to do the right thing and keep away from Nimue.

Not all was lost with his Fey girl! He closed his eyes overwhelmed by the feeling of relief and hope.

“But…but I saw you and Lancelot…” the Brit said when he managed to catch a breath.

“You didn’t see anything of any importance, silly,” she punched him lightly in the chest.

“You were hugging!” Arthur was persistent, “And you’re not a hugger, Gwen!”

She rolled her eyes, “I’m not a hugger. Lancelot isn’t a hugger either. Admittedly that was one of the most awkward moments of my life. But I wanted to express my gratitude and thought that was a good way to show my friendly feelings towards the Monk,” she paused and looked at the Ash man and nodded to him, “And I have no regrets.” When he nodded back, she looked back at Arthur and poked him on his forehead, “So stop imagining things or the Fey Queen will strangle me with her vines.”

The Queen in question looked mortified at her hands folded on her lap. Lancelot, without looking, covered them with his shaking hand and squeezed gently.

Relieved, Arthur nodded at the King, “Fine. I’ll tell how I and Red Spear _gifted_ you with this kingdom,” he said sardonically, “But I still don’t like you, Monk,” he narrowed his eyes at the man but there was no previous hostility in them.

“You know I have a name, don’t you?” asked _the Monk_.

“Calling someone by their name suggests friendship. And we are _not_ friends… _Monk_ ,” Arthur’s jab was rather weak. _Maybe he’s warming up to me?_ Lancelot thought amused. 

The story was pretty straightforward as everything, oddly, went according to the plan and without any obstacles. The secret corridors hadn’t been discovered by the inhabitants of the castle. The king, the queen and their children were brought to the Great Hall. The castle guards stood down, as instructed. Arthur and Red Spear summoned the Council, the servants, and everybody living in the castle. When Lancelot revealed who he was and why he was there, Claudas didn’t look surprised… unlike every single person gathered in the Hall. There was chaos – people talking over each other, some were cheering openly, others were too stunned to react in any way. Claudas, calmly, gave the soon-to-be-king his conditions, before leaving the castle, the grounds, and the kingdom.

“Conditions?” Bors murmured, “What a fool.”

Lancelot took a deep breath and said, “He agreed to leave because Rome was pressuring him to do _something_ about the Fey kind but he knew if he complied, the people of Gennewis would turn against him. He also mentioned the agreement he has with you,” he nodded to his aunt and continued, “So he agreed to leave our kingdom alone as long as we keep our side of the deal.”

“Well, we made the promise and we shall keep it,” Bors said calmly but it was clear that saying it was costing him a lot.

“What about Lionel, my boy?” Lady Evaine said with a strained voice.

At that, the young king nodded towards one of the guards who left the Hall immediately.

“Claudas also insisted that the two kingdoms should remain allies and would have a fruitful relationship,” Lancelot looked into his aunt’s eyes, “He wants to join our families,” he finished quietly.

“Whose marriage is it supposed to be?” the Lady said quietly, her eyes darkened when she looked at her nephew.

“I was allowed to marry Enide – Claudas’ oldest daughter,” said Lionel who was just brought in by the guard, “Admittedly, only because Lancelot refused to marry into that family,” the young man grimaced.

“Lionel!,” his mother exclaimed surprised to see him in the castle, “But…how? Why?” she was confused, “Why did you agree to be traded like that?” she looked angrily at the King.

“Because I love her, mother,” he announced.

“Ha!” Bors snorted, “So that’s where you’ve always been disappearing off to, you sly bastard,” he got up and smacked his younger brother’s back whole-heartedly.

“That’s not all, is it, Lionel?” Lancelot looked at him seriously.

“No, that’s not all,” the man said quietly, looking at the throne behind his cousin, “Since Claudas conquered Gaunnes, I’ve been supplying him with information on our movements and plans, including the news of Lancelot’s arrival and the plans to take over,” he finished quietly.

The Hall erupted in chaos. But Lionel’s mother was just staring at him. She was pale and motionless. The shock etched on her face suddenly made her look decades older.

Lancelot stood up and raised his hand. The Hall fell silent.

“I was as shocked as you, I admit that. This betrayal must be painful to everyone but especially to Lady Evaine,” he saw Lionel trying to say something but silenced him with one look, “However, this very betrayal also worked in our favour and has been working for all those years under King Claudas.”

“What are you talking about, Lance?!” Bors exclaimed, still staring at his brother in disbelief.

“I learnt from Claudas that only because Lionel kept him informed, he hasn’t grown suspicious of the Ash Folk living in the Forest. That’s why you’ve never been bothered. And when he had learnt about us coming to Gallia and about our plans, he had enough time to think about all possibilities and he decided it wasn’t worth engaging in a war. He thinks we – the Fey, are so powerful with magic, we would destroy his armies in a blink of an eye,” he looked around, “So you see now that Lionel, in fact, saved all our lives, and has been protecting the Ash Folk for all those years.”

The king walked around the table, down the steps, stopped next to his cousin, and turned to their audience, “So I’m begging you, good people, find mercy in your hearts for Lionel… like you found mercy for me… despite my despicable sins,” he pleaded and bowed his head.

Lancelot knew it was a gamble but he had hope. The Fey were noble and merciful. He knew it by how he’d been treated ever since he’d showed up in Bertilak Sanctuary.

After a few tense moments, Drust - the new Tusk leader, got up from his table, walked up to them and looked Lancelot in the eyes, then nodded and shook his hand firmly.

“We are brothers and sisters born in the dawn, to pass in the twilight,” he said before moving on and doing the same with Lionel.  
  
Other Fey leaders followed. Lancelot wasn’t able to utter a word, he was so moved by the show of loyalty for both him and his cousin.

Lady Evaine stood up and slowly moved toward the two men. She didn’t as much as glance at her son as she walked pass by him to stop in front of her nephew. She looked at him with endless adoration.

He wanted to say something but she took his fisted hand in her both, brought it to her lips and kissed it, then said, “We are brothers and sisters born in the dawn…” her voice broke.

“…to pass in the twilight,” Lancelot finished for her, his eyes shining with tears of gratitude. It took a moment for both of them to compose themselves.

Then the woman walked to Lionel and looked into his eyes for a long time. Eventually, her shoulders sagged and she sighed.

“We are brothers and sisters…” she didn’t finish as the young man fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around her waist, and wept. She put her hands on his head, leaned down to kiss atop his head, and then rested her cheek on it.

Lancelot was so focused on this moment, he noticed Nimue standing in front of him only when she put her hand on his shoulder.

She was smiling through tears when she said, “We are brothers and sisters born in the dawn, to pass in the twilight,” she rose to her tiptoes and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek, then whispered, looking into his eyes, “I’m honoured to be by your side... my Ash King.”


	15. NOTICE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to everyone who has been taking this journey with me! 🖤🖤🖤
> 
> Unfortunately re-reading and self-proofing takes a long time and I don't have a beta reader to help so the update schedule changes to once a week (most likely Friday).
> 
> Also, I need to apologise to everyone who had to read the "early versions" of the story. I re-read them from time to time and even now, I still find errors/typos etc. 😱 You brave, brave souls! 🏆
> 
> As a "I'm sorry for being slow with my writing", I give you a little (not-connected to this story) something I posted on my Tumblr and Twitter... just for fun!  
> Thanks for staying with me 😘

Hello to everyone who has been taking this journey with me! 🖤🖤🖤

Unfortunately re-reading and self-proofing takes a long time and I don't have a beta reader to help so the update schedule changes to once a week (most likely Friday).

Also, I need to apologise to everyone who had to read the "early versions" of the story. I re-read them from time to time and even now, I still find errors/typos etc. 😱 You brave, brave souls! 🏆

As a "I'm sorry for being slow with my writing", I give you a little (not-connected to this story) something I posted on my Tumblr and Twitter... just for fun!<br />  
Thanks for staying with me 😘

Click the image to enlarge:


	16. The Healing

[ ](https://sta.sh/0a6x2z7us51)

Merlin had been through some busy, hectic times before. Merlin thrived in chaos. But Merlin wasn’t prepared for the intensity of the events taking place in a fortnight after Lancelot had taken the throne.

The young man, on the other hand, didn’t seem bothered by everything going on. He took his new position on with grace and seemingly, no effort. Within a few days, he was commanding such respect that people around him would declare their allegiance without hesitation. Lancelot was a natural leader and Merlin was relieved he hadn’t been wrong.

He only wished Nimue could see that transformation. But she and the Fey returned to the Glade soon after the Council meeting that took place after everyone had pledged their allegiance to the Ash King and the Fey cause.

Initially, Lancelot wanted to go with the young queen and go back to the castle for the daily meetings but she convinced him to stay to show the people of Gennewis that he cared for them.

 _What a wise daughter I have_ , the sorcerer chuckled, remembering how hasty and reckless she’d been mere weeks ago. Then he smiled wistfully at the memory of the young couple shyly exchanging their goodbyes and handshakes, looking into each other’s eyes as if not sure whether they were allowed to express any of that tenderness lurking in their gazes.

 _Oh, young love_ , Merlin’s thoughts went back to Viviane. She did apologise for what she’d done to him. She also said she would do it again. The fairy kingdom had always been ruled by women and allowing a man to share the responsibility could jeopardise Avalon’s stability. And she would not have that! Now, after a cooling-off period, she admitted she had overreacted a bit. _A bit! Like three hundred years is_ a bit, the man huffed and shook his head.

He had no time for those private musings. There was so many things to be done before they could head for Britannia to check up on the Fey and the Vikings left behind. He also wanted to see how Uther was doing and what he was up to in those turbulent times.

The War Council – a temporary committee made of the Royal and Fey Councils, decided that securing the kingdom’s sovereignty should be a priority over anything else. However, the matters of Britannia hadn’t been forgotten and they were discussed in detail during the Council meetings. Birds were sent to Eire and the lands of the Picts with messages asking for support in their quest for freedom and peace.

Yeva’s falcon was sent to King Claudas in Gaunnes, informing him about the date of the Fey Joining which was to be followed by a Christian ceremony in the castle. It was important to have the royal families joined in both traditions - Christian and _Wild Gods’,_ as the Christian Gennewisians called the Hidden.

And so the Council decided that the Bealtaine is the best possible time to marry Lionel and Enide, along with all Fey wishing to be joined. It was a festival celebrating life and new beginnings after all. It also was one of two days in the year where the veils between the human and Fey worlds were lifted and non-Fey folk could experience first-hand the magical activity around the Glade… at least that’s what Viviane told him.

 _That is going to be a day to remember_ , Merlin thought with a smile, hoping he’d be back in time for the celebrations. He didn’t want to leave Nimue on her own, especially now when Lancelot, Hector, Lady Evaine, and Bors were residing at the castle and she was practically left on her own to take care of their people. That was going to be a challenging and testing time for this young woman.

 _I must ask Viviane to guide her_ , he thought and nodded assured that was a good idea. His daughter had to learn ins and outs of the Realm she was to be a ruler of.

The sorcerer was on his way to the castle as he wanted to talk to the young king before things would get even busier. He also wanted to assure the young man of his loyalty…and express his approval of the man and Nimue’s blossoming feelings... just in case things were to escalate further when he was away.

Merlin stopped and rested his forehead on the staff, chuckling happily at that thought. Suddenly he nearly got knocked to the ground by Percival, running at full speed.

“Oi, you little brat!” the man caught the boy by his neck but the boy just scoffed at him.

“Let me go, old man! I have to go before I forget the message,” the boy said, wiggled out of his grasp, and took off. _The old man_ only rolled his eyes.

Now, Nimue was back in the Glade with the Fey, waiting for news that was frequently brought by Percival who was running back and forth with messages between the Fey Queen and the Ash King. The boy was quick and agile… _Just like a little squirrel_ , the wizard smiled, thinking _Squirrel_ was a fitting name after all.

* * *

Being a Royal Messenger wasn’t an easy task, Percival decided. Especially when one had to memorise the messages. Especially when one doubted the importance of said messages. Not all. Some… Like the one he was delivering to Nimue right now. _Hope you’re well and safe. Say one word and I’ll be at your side to serve you in any way you’d want me to. We also need to meet to discuss the festival’s events in the Glade_.

The boy rolled his eyes…and nearly broke his nose on Merlin’s staff he almost ran into. He scolded the man with all dignity of the Royal Messenger and left.

He found Nimue standing at the lakeshore, looking at the island which was bustling with activity. The Ash men were setting up all sorts of equipment around the Fire Tree.

“What are they up to?” he asked, tilting his head curiously.

“They’re setting up a forge for the Bealtine Eve’s events,” she smiled and wrapped her arm around his skinny shoulder.

“What events?

“Well… Do you remember why we have bonfires at home this time of the year?” she looked at the boy. He had no clue. She rolled her eyes and murmured something about ignorant brats, “We do it on Bealtine’s Eve to welcome summer and the new life emerging. Also the bonfires’ flames, smoke, and ashes protect us, our households, and the coming harvest,” she explained.

Percival shrugged, bored. Nimue saw it and laughed, “But the reason it may be interesting to you…” she flicked his nose playfully, “… is that our Ash King needs weapons worthy of his position and power he holds,” she winked at him. When he didn’t say anything and only raised his eyebrows, she hunched down next to him and said, “Lancelot is the king of this land now but, most importantly, he is the Fey Protector…”

“…Your mean Fey King?” Percival interrupted.

Nimue blushed, “Sort of… but not quite…”

“Because you’re not joined?” he was confused.

She blushed even harder, “That too…but not …”

“Why won’t you then?” Percival was stating the obvious here.

“Why won’t we what?” Nimue was confused… and still blushing.

“Join…marry…whatever you adults do,” he rolled his eyes, “You sure can’t live without each other… judging by the silly messages you keep sending to each other… through me,” he pouted, “My legs are killing me from all the running back and forth between the two of you,” he whined, his eyes not leaving the island. They brought a big, heavy anvil and were setting it up in front of the hollow core’s entrance.

“Oh? Did he send a message then?” Nimue's voice sounded casual. _Yeah, right, she’s dying to find out what her Ash King had to say_ , Percival smirked.

“Yeah, he did,” was all the boy said.

“Well…what is it, Percival?” she asked impatiently. He turned to her and looked at her with a smile for a long time but said nothing. “What now?” she looked at him flustered.

“You’ve never called me _Percival_ before,” he said quietly and then hugged her.

After a while, she said, “I guess I never have. Would you like me to call you that?”

“I don’t mind you calling me _Squirrel_ ” the boy grinned, “But I also like being called _Percival_. So, I guess, you can call me whatever you want… my Queen,” he said dramatically and bowed deeply and they both laughed.

“So, what did Lancelot say?” she asked with a shy smile. This time she didn’t pretend she wasn’t eager to know.

“The usual. He’s asking if you’re well. He misses you and wants to see you,” he said nonchalantly and congratulated himself for remembering the message so well. The men on the island were setting up a weird device that looked like bellows but was much bigger. “What is your reply, Nimue?”

When she didn’t answer, he looked at his friend and saw her smiling happily, her gaze absent like her thoughts were miles away… _They probably are, at the castle, with the king_ , the boy shook his head.

“Hey! Are you even there?” he waved his hand in front of her face. She snapped out of her reverie and blushed again. “What. Is. Your. Reply?” he repeated slowly.

“Me too,” she smiled.

“Me too what?”

“I miss him too…and I want to see him as soon as possible,” she said simply, got up and turned to leave, hearing Pym calling her from across the lake.

“Okay…I’ll go now or else the King may have me thrown into his dungeons or something stupid like that,” Percival murmured and went back to the castle, grumbling about stupid adult and their stupid childish love affairs.

* * *

It was both a confusing and exhilarating time for Lancelot. It surprised him how easily he slipped into the role of a leader… and what was the most astonishing of all - he didn’t mind it. It did help that everybody accepted him as the king and thought of him as worthy of the crown by the virtue of being his mother’s son, who was universally loved and respected by the Gennewisians.

He was welcomed everywhere he went. Nobody feared him anymore. Nobody looked at him like he was cursed or diseased. For the first time, he experienced what being welcomed felt. The people surrounding him didn’t force themselves to be around him… So unlike the monks who had to be ordered by Father Carden and even then, they barely could stomach his presence and only the fear of him kept them in line.

Father Carden. Lancelot hadn’t had much time to think about the man after finding out from Nimue about his former mentor’s fate. The man who replaced his family. The man who was his savior and abuser. The man who made the young Asher want to be worthy of God’s grace despite not feeling His presence.

He often was told by the old monk that he could be God’s greatest weapon against all evil sent to the world by Satan. But, in the same breath, he would also remind Lancelot that he was an abomination and his path to salvation had to be steeped in the Fey blood, his included.

And that was the reason why he never got ordained. Having such an unholy creature in the Red Paladin ranks would be an ultimate insult to the Almighty who would certainly send plagues and death to punish them for allowing a Fey demon such honour. So, despite having all the marks of a holy man – the cross cut into his skull, the weapons adorned with Rome’s insignia, the book of scriptures always with him, he was not permitted to call himself a Man of God.

There had always been the constant need to prove himself, to do better so Carden would show him the rare glimpse of love he supposedly had for the young man. And he really tried but somehow, he wasn’t able to avoid the daily beatings and punishment that, with time, turned into self-flagellation.

Lancelot was so deprived of any positive engagement with others, he would sometimes beg Father Carden for any scraps of affection or words of encouragement. Usually, he would get it… if he groveled to the old man for long enough but with years passing, the words coming out of the old monk’s mouth started feeling empty.

Then, after the fateful conversation with the Green Knight, and the final talk with Father Carden, The Weeping Monk was left terrified because the doubt implanted in his mind by Gawain, made him question his mission and every decision he’d made throughout his time with the Red Paladins.

If Carden’s words were all lies, Lancelot was just a common murderer. And that thought was more mortifying than any notion of burning in Hell for his demonic nature.

Only because the Fey accepted him and forgave him, he didn’t slip into madness fueled by indescribable guilt. Instead, he managed to build himself up to stand on his own feet. All thanks to the kindness of the people he’d been hunting for the past three years. For the first time, he didn’t feel like he had to earn anyone’s affection. He was given it freely and no one expected anything in return.

 _That’s not how I imagined the whole thing would go,_ he mused, remembering the night when he and Percival fled the Red Paladins’ camp and how sure he was then he’d be dead not before long.

He shook his head in disbelief and leaned against a wall, admiring the view from atop of the eastern tower which he visited nightly just to look towards the Glade and wonder what the Fey were doing. What she was doing. He smiled at the thought that maybe Nimue also was looking towards the tower from _their_ spot in the Valley right now.

Lancelot wished they could have some time to themselves to talk as the things between them seemed to shift towards something he would never even dare dream about. He just hoped he wasn’t imagining anything. He needed to know!

“How are you keeping, Your Highness?” Merlin’s quiet voice sounded somewhat amused as if sensing how flustered he was.

Ah, Merlin. The man who got him into all of this. The man who took a chance and put the safety of all Fey in the Weeping Monk’s hands. The man whom he came to deeply respect and admire.

“Surprisingly well, Magician,” Lancelot smiled, not looking at the sorcerer who jumped lightly atop the wall and sat cross-legged. The king followed.

Nobody said anything for a long while. They just shared the wine brought by Merlin and enjoyed the last moments before the sunset.

“You know what?” the older man said with the flask raised halfway to his lips. He looked at the king affectionately and said, “I’m proud of you, son.”

“Are you drunk that early, old man?” the younger man joked, trying to hide how touched he was by both Merlin being proud of him and calling him a _son_. But the wizard saw right through his jab and just smiled, handing him the flask.

“I’m also proud of myself too,” Merlin confessed, gesturing at the king, “That I recognised _this_ man in the Weeping Monk… and that I’m allowed to be at your side during your journey,” when Lancelot raised his eyebrows in questions, he continued, “See, I was an outcast for a long time… being born of the dark magic and all. I wasn’t respected by the Fey for many reasons – all valid. Even when I met Nimue and for a minute, I thought that maybe I’d be allowed back into their graces, somehow I managed to mess it up. So when you showed up, I was given a chance to prove myself… and it worked, thanks to you” he poked the younger man in his chest, “And seeing you becoming the man you are now is a privilege.”

Touched by the man’s words, Lancelot looked down at his hands, fidgeting with a flask’s strap, “Well, since we are in _that_ mood, I must thank you for believing in me as nobody has before… and helping me along the way,” he looked at the darkening sky and shook his head, “It’s hard to believe that it’s been merely a month since we met. There have been so many changes to my life, I’ve met so many people… people that were supposed to be evil, according to what I was taught, but turned out to be my salvation…”

“…as you were theirs,” the sorcerer smiled, taking the flask off Lancelot’s hands and drinking a toast to him.

They stayed silent for a few moments before the young king gathered the courage to ask, “So… how are things in the Glade?”

Lancelot felt his tongue started getting fuzzy from all the wine he had drunk. He also hoped the question was innocent enough and wouldn’t raise Merlin’s suspicion about the actual subject of the inquiry. He almost praised himself for being so cunning. Almost…

Merlin guffawed, leaning back so far, he nearly fell off the wall, and couldn’t stop laughing.

Lancelot felt humiliated. But because he was also tipsy and the usual self-control was absent at the moment, he angrily ripped the flask out of the wizard’s hands, had a big swig of wine and threw the flask away, down the cliff. Merlin wasn’t laughing anymore. Merlin stared, stupefied.

The two men followed the falling object with their eyes, then looked at each other blankly for a while, and finally, burst out laughing.

The ex-monk didn’t even realise he was capable of such a reaction. Whether that was just an alcohol haze or not, he felt light and care-free. He’d never felt like that before!

“The _things_ are just fine…There is one Fey girl who is pining after the certain Ash man and is a bit lonely right now…but _things_ are fine,” Merlin winked at him when they finally calmed down.

Lancelot was glad it was almost dark now so the sorcerer wouldn't see him blushing and smiling like a fool. He knew he didn’t have to ask the other man for permission but he wanted to out of courtesy…and because he knew Merlin would appreciate it if he was included.

He got off the wall, staggering little, lit nearby torches, and came standing right in front of the older man who looked at him curiously. Then he straightened his clothes, cleared the throat, blinked few times to get rid of the double-vision, and clenched his fists nervously, saying “Merlin, I would like to ask you whether you’d allow me to…”

“There you are!” Lancelot was interrupted by Percival who was trying to catch a breath after running up the stairs, then dramatically dropped onto the ground, splaying his limbs widely, “She says _Me too_ ,” he said with a sleepy voice.

“Who says that?” the young king was confused.

“Nimue…who else?” the boy said impatiently and rolled onto his belly, resting his head on the folded arms and yawned, “She told me to tell you all the same nonsense you had told me to tell her.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, boy,” he murmured. Maybe he had more to drink than he should and lost an ability to understand human speech? He glimpsed at Merlin but he was just sitting and grinning which was no help whatsoever.

“Eh, whatever. I’ll find out myself,” he got ready to leave, determined to find Nimue and ask her personally. There was no other reason he wanted to see her than just to clarify her message. None!... Fine, he might be able to steal a kiss…. And maybe tell her she meant everything to him… But that’s it!... Though he might also ask her not to ever leave him because he would be lost without her… Although, he felt he was lost with her too… in a different way…a nice way…

“Where do you think you’re going, young man?” Merlin’s amused voice took him out of his drunken musings.

“To the Glade…” he murmured and looked around for some doors, any doors… doors that would allow him to leave the tower.

“Percival, go get Hector and bring some water and food up here. We need to sober our king up,” the sorcerer said lightly, making Lancelot sit down on the stone floor and rest against the wall

“Lancelot, are you drunk?” the boy asked cheerfully with a wide smile on his tiny face.

Lancelot pointed at the boy…or thereabout, and said, “If you tell anyone, I’ll order your beheading. You hear me, Squirrel?” he waved his finger, “Your head will be gone,” he snapped his fingers, “Just like that!”

Why was that little gremlin still smiling at him? He was serious. He didn’t want anyone, especially Nimue, to find out about this pathetic state he was in.

“What now?” he grumbled at the child.

“Nimue called me Percival earlier, now you call me Squirrel,” the boy laughed happily and skipped away, probably to find Hector.

When the two men stayed alone, Merlin sat next to Lancelot, rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes with a sigh, “Young man, you have my permission and blessing, and anything else you may need to stop yours _and_ Nimue’s torment as soon as possible,” he patted the younger man’s knee.

“Right. Thank you,” the intoxicated man wasn’t sure what the sorcerer was referring to anymore.

They sat in silence until Percival came back with Hector, carrying all sorts of food and coverings. The _outdoor feast_ was set up quickly and all four participants snuggled into the blankets and enjoyed the night and making fun of Lancelot’s first-time intoxication.

It wasn’t after they finished eating when Hector said, “By the way, the birds returned earlier on,” he licked his fingers off chicken juices and threw the bone he was holding onto an impressive pile of scraps. “We’re getting help from the Irish Celts _and_ the Picts, if any of you want to know,” he finished dejected by lack of interest from others.

“Well, that’s wonderful news, Hector. Thank you!” Merlin said excitedly, “Now I can go to Britannia and hopefully be back in a couple of days,” he took a sip of water and grimaced, clearly not happy it wasn’t wine, “But that can wait till the morning since we are having such a feast out here,” he decided, grabbing an apple and biting into it.

“Do you think it will be enough to defeat the Church’s and Cumber’s armies?” Hector worried.

“We will have to see,” the sorcerer looked at him approvingly, “One thing is sure – once we leave, Gennewis will be left in capable hands,” he raised a toast to the younger of the princes.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why do you think Lancelot was dragging you to all the meetings and councils, Hector?” Merlin asked. The young man had no answer. The magician shook his head and explained, “You’re to stay here as a regent and keep an eye on things.”

“Because I trust you and because you’re a next in line to the throne, brother,” Lancelot clarified and smacked his brother on the back.

“Oh,” was all Hector said, stunned.

“Oh indeed,” was the only answer he got from the king.

The rest of the night was spent on friendly banter and laughter. _It’s nice to have friends_ , was the last thing Lancelot thought before drifting off to sleep with snoring _Squirrel_ curled up against his side.

* * *

Nimue came to the castle the next morning as she couldn’t wait any longer to see Lancelot. It’s been almost two weeks after all and the verbal messages sent through Squirrel weren’t enough! She needed to know how things were progressing… and she needed to know how Lancelot was coping with all the changes. She needed to…

The first thing she saw after exiting the Valley of No Return, nearby the entrance to the secret tunnel, was Lancelot, kneeling, grasping onto a leafy shrub with one hand, and holding onto his head with the other. Stunned Hector and Squirrel were with him, watching.

“What is he doing, Hector?” confused Nimue asked, tilting her head curiously.

“I’ve no clue. He got drunk for the first time last night and now he’s hangover… so maybe it’s a coping mechanism?” Hector suggested, narrowing his eyes.

Nimue giggled and walked up to the king with a tender smile on her face. She knelt next to him and gently rubbed his back. But before she managed to say anything, she noticed something that took her breath away and left her gasping for air.

Lancelot’s hand that was holding onto the leaves of the shrub…had its skin mimicking the greenery it was in contact with! It was disappearing under the sleeves of his tunic but when she looked at his face, she could see the green leaf markings on his cheeks.

“What is happening, Lancelot?!” she exclaimed, shocked, staring in disbelief.

“Please don’t shout, my love,” the young king's said with a weak voice.

 _My love?_ Her heart fluttered in elation, though she knew the pitiful state her Ash man was in, probably made him not quite aware of the words leaving his mouth.

“But…how…what…” she couldn’t articulate her thoughts, her eyes scanning his face greedily, “Lancelot, do you even know what you’re doing!” she asked, pointing at his hand.

“Oh, that? It helps to heal” he shrugged, then continued quietly, “I’ve always known I could do it. Although I don’t really know how to, besides that I need to be in physical contact with living flora.”

“Why didn’t you heal your scars then?” Hector asked, coming closer to take a look at his brother’s now changed face.

“That would be a death sentence if anyone found out. It’s _demonic magic_ after all,” he chuckled mirthlessly and rubbed his face with a free hand, “Besides, I need them as a reminder of who I am…” he hesitated, “…who I was,” he corrected himself.

“But it’s not only self-healing you can perform, is it?” she said quietly, looking at the Lancelot in awe, “It’s others too… That’s why Gawain said you were the only reason Squirrel was still alive that they he got shot with the poisoned arrow. Because you were healing him…” her voice drifted off as tears gathered in her eyes and slowly made their way down her cheeks. The memory of that day was still painful and Nimue, subconsciously, needed to make sure Squirrel was fine so she pulled him into a tight embrace.

The boy wriggled out of the hug after a moment and sat on the ground next to now seated Lancelot, and stared at him. The man returned the gaze and chuckled, clearly not comfortable with the level of adoration the kid was looking at him with. 

The leafy markings were fading away since he let go of the plant. His face wasn’t pale and sallow anymore. _That’s cheating_. _He should’ve suffered through his very first hangover like the rest of us,_ Nimue smirked to herself and sat down on the ground.

“So…what was the occasion, if I may ask?” she smiled at the king.

“Well…Merlin brought wine and we were talking…and I guess, I didn’t pay attention to the amount I drank,” he shrugged and blushed.

“Aha…” she rolled her eyes, “Makes sense. My father wouldn’t waste any opportunity to have a drink…”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Lancelot was defending Merlin and Nimue found it adorable, “I’m an adult man and am perfectly able to make my own decisions, my queen.”

 _Has he just pouted?_ She couldn’t believe he was capable of such juvenile behaviour.

She chuckled joyfully, got up and sat on Lancelot’s lap. His eyes went wide when she took his face in her hands and kissed him gently on his lips, then smiled lovingly, looking into his awestruck eyes.

“Uhm… Percival, we should probably go,” Hector’s voice didn’t manage to make her tear her eyes away from the man in front of her.

“What? Why?” the boy did not get the clue. He was busy rubbing leaves against his hand as if trying to repeat the Ash man’s _trick_.

“Percival, I need you to go with Hector and find… um…Bors,” Lancelot said, his eyes never leaving Nimue’s.

The kid still didn’t get it, “But Bors went in Gaunnes to bring King Claudas for the cer…”

“Percival. Go. _Now_ ,” the king said through his teeth. The queen nearly burst out laughing seeing the man trying hard not to lose control.

Luckily, giggling Hector grabbed the boy by the collar and marched away towards the Glade.

They were left alone, with the sound of the sea waves as only company. They were still looking into each other’s eyes. No one moved a muscle.

The amusement Nimue felt moments ago was gone when she saw Lancelot’s darkening eyes, staring at her greedily. She felt heat crawling all over her body. The air around her was so thick with anticipation, she found it hard to breathe.

It took her a moment to register the words coming out of his mouth, “Get up, please,” his voice sounded hoarse.

“What…” she blinked a few times, not quite believing that the moment was over so soon. _It’s not happening_ , she whined internally, _He cannot just leave me like that!_

“I said, get up, Nimue,” he growled and pressed his lips into a thin line, his jaw working like he was grinding his teeth.

At that, she slid off his lap rapidly, got up with all dignity she had left, and raised her chin proudly, “Fine. Have it your way, Monk,” and she marched away.

“Where, the hell, do you think you’re going, Witch?” he said with a low, dangerous voice.

“I know when I’m not wanted. I won’t beg you for anything, Monk!!!” she yelled at him without stopping, without looking back. She’d never been so humiliated in her entire life. She was also very angry that she allowed herself to dream about being loved by that wretched man!

Her heart was thumping in her ears so loudly, she didn’t hear the steps behind her and only when a hand grabbed her by the arm, she realised Lancelot followed her.

He pulled and turned her towards him, and caught her hand when she attempted to slap him in the face. He trapped it behind her back and pressed her body to his, murmuring, “You silly little Witch,” and kissed her hungrily, devouring her lips with a passion she wasn’t aware could even exist.

She melted into him instantly, freed her hand, and wrapped her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss, tangling her tongue with his. _Where did he learn that?_ A fleeting thought dissipated as soon as it appeared in her mind as her knees gave in and now she was relying fully on the support of his strong arms.

She needed more access to his skin so her lips trailed a path from his lips, through his jaw, earlobe and neck, focusing on the tender spot between the base of the neck and a collar bone.

“Nimue…” he gasped and she had to smile. _My sweet innocent boy_.

Her lips went back to his lips while her hands were exploring his torso, looking for a way under his tunic. But he grabbed her hands gently, and breathed into her mouth, “Nimue…”

“Lancelot,” she breathed back, trying to free her hands. He wouldn’t let her, “Let me,” she whined.

“I’d love to, my Witch,” he whispered and kissed the tip of her nose, “But we have company,” he looked at something behind her.

In the haze, she turned around just to see Pym, Red Spear and Galehaut, watching them in fascination. Pym and Galehaut were grinning like lunatics.

Red Spear was smirking, her hands on the hips, “Ha! I didn’t know our Monk had it in him,”… and she kept smirking when all three passed them on their way to the castle.

“Bloody right he does,” Nimue shouted after them angrily, causing the trespassers to burst into giggles.

“Well, thank you for the vote of confidence…I guess?” Lancelot was smiling shyly at her.

“You’re welcome,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone and looked at him with an equally shy smile. They both chuckled. She went onto her tiptoes and kissed his jaw, “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

He just nodded, cupping her chin and leaning down to place a last gentle kiss on her lips. They looked at each other for a moment and then she turned away and went back to the Enchanted Glade, giggling to herself happily.

Because she finally had her proof the Ash King and she were on the same page.


	17. The Fey Sword

[ ](https://sta.sh/0mwodhjhj8e)

If somebody had told Pym her life would be completely transformed after she found herself picking fish guts up from a deck in the Hawksbridge’s harbour, she would laugh.

If somebody had told Pym she’d become a person of any import within a fortnight since her arrival in Gennewis, she would have simply shaken head at that silliness.

But here she was, at the castle, standing at Hector de Maris’ side - the soon-to-be-King-Regent’s side, awaiting the arrival of the royal guests from Gaunnes.

She looked at Hector and nudged him to get his attention and let him know he was not alone in this. He looked at her and squeezed her hand which he was grasping like his life depended on it.

Ever since Lancelot had taken the throne of Gennewis back, she became his younger brother’s moral and emotional support. He came to her with every doubt and every idea he might have. She felt honoured and all…but she also felt she was in no way qualified to be a _royal adviser_. 

Just as much as poor Hector didn’t feel like he could handle the enormous weight of responsibility that awaited him once the Fey and allied armies would leave for Britannia in a week.

But tonight, there was no need to bother themselves with those heavy thoughts as the Bealtaine Eve’s celebrations were to kick off.

She looked around at the people present at the castle gates. Lancelot was flanked by Lionel and Sir Galehaut on his left and Hector and her on his right. Arthur and Red Spear were standing nearby, surrounded by the Royal Council.

All Fey however, were gone, readying themselves for the coming festivities, not wanting to participate in the Human pleasantries. But at the same time, the fairy folk wanted the _Man-Bloods_ to have an unforgettable time at the Glade. Nimue wished to show there was nothing to fear from them, which is what the Christian children were taught from the church pulpits.

Nimue. Oh, how Pym missed her but they had been so busy lately, they didn’t even have time to catch up and talk about everything that was happening… _Especially about all the kisses exchanged at the foot of the castle_ , she smirked.

The young queen was spending all days with Ladies Viviane and Evaine as well as with Baudwin - a magician and Ash Elder.

In the few rare moments she had with her friend, Nimue told her they were teaching her about the Fey Realm, its customs, rules, and history, as well as her duties as a future ruler. Then, she would disappear with Lady Viviane, just to emerge from the lake at late hours of the night, soaked and exhausted but smiling and content.

Pym saw the change in her dear Wolf-Blood Witch who seemed to be getting more confident and _regal_ by the day. Lady of the Lake told her friend she would get officially crowned a Queen only when she was ready and the time was right, not a moment earlier… Whatever that meant.

As long as she wouldn’t lose her Nimue completely to the new position, she didn’t mind a bit of a royal haughtiness coming from the new queen.

“What’s so funny, Pym?” Hector’s voice took her out of her reverie.

“Nothing in particular,” she smiled at him, “Just the general turn of events… which I’m still processing… slowly.”

“You’re doing great. I don’t know what I’d do without you, I swear,” he assured her quietly, looking at her in the way that would make Squirrel huff with contempt.

She looked at Hector thoughtfully, proud of whom he had become. It was almost miraculous how quickly he had changed from a malnourished, naive and fearful boy into this confident, competent and handsome man. He looked like he belonged. He seemed to flourish in this environment.

Pym liked him more and more with each passing day. The thought of letting him into her life in a more intimate role than just a friend and confidant didn’t make her feel like she was betraying Dof anymore…most of the time. Mere weeks ago she would detest an idea of a relationship with anyone who wasn’t her Viking… but things were changing rapidly after Red Spear told her that, knowing Dof, he would be pissed off with Pym if he knew she was wasting her life on living with ghosts.

She wanted to feel again what Nimue felt around Lancelot. She needed to know that when the war’s dust settled, she wouldn’t be left behind by everyone who decided to start their lives anew. And Hector was someone she wanted to be part of her life.

Yes, she’ll tell him before she had to leave for Britannia. _Maybe even sooner_ , she narrowed her eyes at one of King Claudas’ daughter who was eying _her_ Hector greedily.

Pym straightened up and slipped her hand under his arm, looking haughtily at that flirty goose who, luckily for her, had the decency to turn her eyes away.

The young man had to notice that exchange between the women because he put his hand atop hers and leaned down, whispering into her ear, amused, “What’s that all about?”

She didn’t even look at him when she stated, still staring the woman down, “Just minding what’s mine, that’s all.”

“What’s yours?” she could _hear_ him smirking contently.

“Don’t get cocky, you smug bastard,” she glared at him. Soon she realised she shouldn’t be calling him a _bastard_ …

But he put her mind at ease when he laughed and said, “I won’t, I promise… I just enjoy you being so… territorial,” he lightly squeezed her hand and pulled her with him to greet the guests.

Pym caught Red Spear’s eye and the women exchanged smiles.

Indeed, maybe it was time to start thinking about the future.

****

* * *

Merlin leaned on his staff and sighed, watching the boats approaching the harbour with lanterns and torches flickering in the darkness of the night.

He returned to Gennewis some time ago but didn’t want to join everyone in the Glade yet. He wanted to wait for Lancelot and surprise him.

When in Britannia, he met with Kaze, Gawain, and the Vikings not far from Pendragon Castle. They told him that it was the last safe spot as Rome’s and Cumber’s armies were slowly moving up north again, after a period of inactivity stemmed from the events in the Red Paladins’ camp.

Kaze seemed to be glad to see him…unlike Gawain, who seemed to be content with an idea of ridding the world of the sorcerer. The Bexare, however, managed to bring the atmosphere down from _I’ll-gut-you-on-the-spot_ to a pleasant _I-may-keep-you-alive-for-now._ What unified the three of them was the news of Lancelot and the Fey Folk’s fate. Gawain and Kaze were impressed with the Weeping Monk becoming the Fey Protector, the King, and the Fey Queen’s consort.

The Fey and the Vikings were astonished that Eireann and Pictish warriors had answered Lancelot’s call to arms. Merlin could see that made everybody’s respect for the young king grow exponentially.

All Gawain shared with him was that _maybe_ he managed to secure some help from the north. _Fine_ , the Magician swore to himself he wasn’t interested in any more details and announced he had to see King Uther. Gawain and Kaze insisted they would accompany him, after hearing about the course of their last meeting.

Uther Pendragon was surprisingly relieved to see him alive. But still, it took them a long time to convince the King to abandon his plans of joining his forces with Rugen on the Leper King’s terms. He didn’t like the idea of being, essentially, Rugen’s subject as the Leper had promised Pendragon some lands to rule over but it would be he and _his_ Boudicca who would be high king and queen of Britannia, maybe even Eire.

Merlin rolled his eyes at that silliness and remembered Uther’s gratitude when told that Rugen’s plans to reincarnate Boudicca by making Nimue the vessel for her spirit had to be abandoned since the Fey Queen was away and safe.

So at the time of his departure, Uther pledged his support for the Fey cause… which didn’t mean all that much, considering the man’s mood swings.

Merlin sighed again and shook his head, walking towards the boats docking along the jetties.

Lancelot was happy to see him but then he was left agape when he looked past the sorcerer.

“Surprise!” the older man grinned at the sight of the _mighty_ king nearly losing his composure.

* * *

As Lancelot expected, King Claudas had no interest in going to the Glade on foot so they took longships and rowed across the bay. The king also had no interest in participating in the Bealtaine celebrations at all and only because his daughter – Enide insisted, he agreed reluctantly. On the other hand, Claudas’ wife and other children – two daughters and a son, were excited to _see the magic with their own eyes_.

The Ash King liked Enide and thought she was a great addition to the family. She was feisty, smart, and completely in love with his cousin who also was lost to the love they shared. She also knew how to placate her father which could come in handy in the future.

He snapped out of his musings when the boat he was in bumped of the jetty, announcing their arrival in the harbour. The first person he saw was Merlin. He was delighted the Magician made it on time! But when he looked past him, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Kaze! Gawain!” he rushed to them, momentarily forgetting Claudas and his entourage.

“Asher!” the Green Knight embraced him, then looked him from top to bottom and nodded approvingly, “I see the whole kingship business suits you, my brother.”

“Oh please, he looks like he wants to be anywhere else but here,” Kaze interjected, pushed Gawain away, and hugged Lancelot tightly.

“It’s so good to see you two,” the young king smiled, “You, being here, is the last thing I expected. Wait till Nimue sees you!”

“How’s our Queen doing?” Gawain asked, smirking at him knowingly.

“She’s well – she thrives and learns how to be a queen,” he didn’t even blush as that part of his life was done. He wasn’t either shy about or embarrassed about his feelings for his Witch anymore.

The older Fey looked at him for a long while with a smile and said “I’m glad things worked out in the end. I truly am,” he finished with a hearty slap on Lancelot’s back.

“Me too, Lancelot. I’ve never been happier to put my trust in anybody,” Kaze stretched her arm and shook his hand ceremoniously.

“Thank you and welcome to Gennewis,” was all the Ash man managed to say without bursting into tears of joy and gratitude.

The moment they entered the Enchanted Glade, Lancelot knew this would be a memorable night for everyone – for the Gennewisians who already made their way here, the visitors from Gaunnes, for all the Fey and the Vikings.

The Glade has never seen such crowds. The entire space was lit up with bonfires of all sizes as the witching hour was near and the celebrations were to start soon. He looked up at the tree canopy and smiled seeing hundreds of lanterns hanging from tree branches.

The Fire Tree was glowing gently with the green flames, invisible to the human eye at the moment. And at the base of it, there were his Ash brothers, waiting for the right moment to start the forging ceremony.

Lancelot looked towards two women, patiently awaiting them at the base of an ancient ash tree. The same ash tree he, as a boy, had pretended to be his throne. Now, it looked like his childhood fantasies were coming true.

The tree was at the sloping edge of the Glade, across the stone causeway leading to the island. The roots were exposed due to erosion, leaving behind tangled masses which made it looked like an intricately sculpted throne surrounded by seating _benches_.

He smiled, seeing the adornments all over the majestic ash and seats lined with cushions and tapestry. Lady Evaine winked at him, seeing his reaction.

Nimue, who was standing next to his aunt, was wrapped in blue silks and her hair was adorned with flowers and braided in the traditional Ash Folk’s patterns which made his heart soar.

He walked up to her, took her hand, and placed the gentlest of kisses on her knuckles, looking deep into her eyes, grateful for everything she’s done to make this night special. Her warm smile was like coming home after the hectic weeks of never-ending meetings, planning, and arguing with the council and with Claudas’ emissaries.

The king turned to the guests to introduce them to the queen but after one look at their mesmerised faces, King Claudas’ included, he decided to give them some time to absorb everything. So he gestured for Merlin, Kaze, and Gawain to come out of the shadows.

“It’s good to see you, my Queen,” Gawain greeted her with a wide smile. Nimue gasped, rooted to the spot. Kaze laughed and rested her arm on the man’s shoulder. Merlin chuckled, leaning on his staff.

The two Fey warriors didn’t waste any time and went in for a hug like they hadn’t seen the Fey Queen in decades.

“But…How?” Nimue asked after she stopped laughing and caught her breath.

Merlin wiggled his staff like a wand, “Turns out I’m good for something after all,” he laughed, walking towards her, and then placing a fatherly kiss on her forehead, “Your look stunning,” he said quietly and glanced at the young king and then winked at her, “And happy…”

The rest of the conversation was lost on Lancelot as his thoughts focused on the woman standing next to him.

 _…She’s a vision. She’s a promise of paradise. She’s a nymph that will lead me to lose my soul to her…willingly and with open arms_ , Lancelot’s musings were halted when he noticed everyone was looking at him.

He had to blink a few times to catch Nimue’s words, “Excuse me?”

“I asked you if you could introduce us to the guests before we start,” she looked between him and the King of Gaunnes, who now was looking at him disapprovingly.

“Yes, of course. My sincere apologies. I was…um…elsewhere,” he could swear he heard Kaze and Gawain snorting with laughter. _Ah, friends. How could I think it’s good to have them?_ he wondered, staring daggers at them.

By the time he was done, all the kings, queens, princes, princesses, and all the family members, knights, leaders, and wizards were introduced. The time for acquainting the newcomers with the Councils and others would come later.

“Shall we?” Lady Evain gestured and invited them to make themselves comfortable around the _Ash Throne_.

“Ash Throne, auntie?” murmured Lancelot, passing her by. She just sent him a lop-sided smile in response.

* * *

Nimue was nervous. She hoped everything would so smoothly, as she, Lady Viviane, and Lancelot’s aunt had planned.

 _So far, so good_ , she assured herself and looked towards her dear friends, still stunned they managed to come to Gennewis! She had so many questions about the situation in Britannia…but that could wait till tomorrow.

She sat next to Lancelot and looked around to see whether everybody was comfortable, then she scanned the Glade below for any sign of trouble. None was found… but one.

“Move, you slugs!” Squirrel was elbowing his way through the crowds in an attempt to get to them. Once he was at the foot of the tree, King Claudas’ guards wouldn’t let him any further.

That was their first mistake as that made the boy angry, “Let me through or I’ll gut you like the Weeping Monk gutted Trinity Guards!” he shook his tiny fist at the grown men who looked at each other and burst out laughing.

And that was their second mistake as that made Lancelot stand up and growl, “Let him through…or I’ll let him gut you like I gutted Trinity Guards,” he finished, putting the hand on the hilt of the sword.

After that statement, the guards didn’t say a word. Nobody did.

Until somebody did.

“He can do it. I know it firsthand. He skewered me like a piece of meat ready for roasting,” said the Green Knight, leaning against the tree trunk and smirking.

“Do you want me to apologise…again, Gawain?” Lancelot asked, still staring down the guards.

“Oh no, my friend. No need. I just wanted to assure those fine men of the sincerity of your words,” the man winked at Nimue who turned to look at him.

She was astonished that _the Weeping Monk_ became a subject of lighthearted banter and judging from the looks on people’s faces, so was everyone else.

Her eyes swelled with tears when she realised what Gawain was doing and her love for her friend grew anew. He was officially acknowledging Lancelot as the Weeping Monk and by joking about the dire situation he’d once found himself in, he was publicly forgiving Asher for it.

“Huh… I’m yet to receive my apologies from the Weeping Monk for slashing my chest and marking me like a cattle,” Arthur said with his hands on the hips and came standing next to Gawain.

Nimue had to put a hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t giggle at the sight of Lancelot’s reaction.

He turned his head to the side, just enough to side-eye Arthur, and said, “You surely also mean all the times I beat your arse, don’t you… Arthur?”

“It’s happened only twice… Monk,” the man replied dismissively and folded his arms on the chest.

“So far…” Asher smirked, turned back, and walked down towards the guards who were visibly shaking now.

They stepped aside without a word. Squirrel took Lancelot’s hand and both climbed up to the _throne_ , where the boy was seated between the king and the queen.

The young woman looked around and noticed a plethora of reactions on the faces surrounding her. King Claudas looked only slightly fearful but mostly impressed. His queen and children gaped at Lancelot in fascination… or horror? Hector and Pym were giggling. Bors, Lionel and Lady Evaine were grinning. So were Kaze and Red Spear. Galehaut looked at Lancelot with a thoughtful smile. Merlin patted Arthur sympathetically on the back, which was rewarded with a glare. That made her father and Gawain burst into laughter.

Nimue looked at the man sitting next to her. He looked at her. She took his hand, squeezed it, and let her thumb caress the calloused skin of his palm.

“Yuck,” Squirrel sufficiently expressed his opinion but before he could say anything more, a rumbling sound came from under the ground.

It was time.

* * *

Pym was glad she was a Fey and had seen some weird magic happening, otherwise, she’d probably run in a panic right about now.

Nimue was touching the root she was sitting on, doing _the Nimue thing_ and making the vines shoot out from the top branches of the trees surrounding the lake, and sending them towards the Fire Tree. Lancelot was grasping the same root and setting the vines ablaze.

The view was unbelievably beautiful - the Glade transformed and looked like it had a fiery dome over, just like one of the majestic Christian cathedrals.

“Did you see what Nimue and Lance just did?” Hector said, gaping at the couple.

“What do you mean?” Pym was confused, “You’ve seen them doing it before.”

“What? No, I haven’t,” he looked at her like she was mad.

“Yes, you hav…”

“Technically, you’re right, Pym,” Bors interjected, “But keep in mind Hector isn’t Fey so he simply has no recollection of anything happening here.”

“Aah…” was Pym’s answer.

“Does it mean we won’t remember this night either?” Enide worried.

“You will, my love, as it’s Bealtaine and it’s one of two nights in the year when human folk are allowed to keep the memories of our realm,” Lionel explained and wrapped his arm around Enide’s shoulders.

“When is the other night?” Hector asked.

“At the end of autumn, during Samhain,” Pym supplied the answer and shuddered, “Some Folk find winter worth being celebrated… for some reason,” she grimaced, “I, for one, hate the very idea of the freezing cold and constantly wet feet.”

“My dear Pym, you find any idea _not_ involving summer unpalatable,” Nimue grinned at her.

“As everyone shou…”

The sound of violently bubbling water made everyone turn their heads towards the lake. Pym had seen it happened before but witnessing it from up here was a completely new experience. It looked terrifying as much as it was mesmerising.

After a few moments, the surface of the water was smooth again but the low underground rumble came back and the ground seemed to be vibrating. Gasps and panicked cries were filling the Glade.

Then, everything stopped… just like the day the Fire Tree had been reignited.

And just like then, the Tree burst into huge green flames, sending blast wave all around it, destroying the fiery dome and nearly extinguishing the bonfires.

Ashes and tiny green embers – the remnants of the _ceiling,_ were dancing in the air, looking like millions of sparkling stars. They weren’t falling to the ground, they were just floating around gently.

The tree returned to its usual glowing state. The bonfires’ flames were reaching up high once more.

“Extraordinary!” King Claudas stood up, looking towards the Tree.

“Can you see the flames now, Sire?” Lancelot asked him, also standing up.

“Yes! Yes, I can,” the man whispered and looked at the Ash king, “Is that a normal view for you people?”

“Yes, ever since the Fire was returned to this land, this tree is constantly ablaze,” the younger man confirmed.

“Extraordinary…” Claudas whispered again and sat back down, his eyes not leaving the island.

Humans were gazing silently at the Tree, at the surface of the lake illuminated from within, and the sky filled with green glowing specks.

In the ever-present silence, Lady of the Lake and the Maidens slowly emerged from the lake and hovered over the water which seemed to be their custom. Lady Viviane gestured at one of the Maidens who fluidly moved towards the Ash Throne, her veils floating around her as if she was still underwater.

When she got to the shore, she landed softly on the ground. Momentarily, her sheer white veils changed into black gauzy ones.

People were scattering in shock, their eyes following the Maiden who stopped when she reached the foot of the Throne, and removed the veils covering her face.

Pym was staring, stunned, trying to process the woman’s presence in this terrifying new form.

“Morgana!” Arthur’s voice was shaking with shock.

“Later, brother,” the Black Widow said dispassionately and looked to Nimue, “My Queen,” she said with a hint of a smile.

“Don’t you start calling me that!” Nimue was mock-appalled. She stood up and walked down as quickly as the tangled roots let her, then hugged the woman in black and said, “So good to see you again, my friend! When Lady Viviane said we would have a special guest I didn’t even think it could be you,” she laughed.

“Ta-da,” Morgana said with a wide smile, “Sadly I’m not here to visit you but I brought something for your King,” she finished and looked towards the man.

Pym gazed at him too. _How does he always stay so stoic?_ she wondered and looked at Hector, who, unlike his older brother, was staring with his mouth opened. Pym smiled and gently closed it with her hand.

“What did you bring me, Widow?” Lancelot asked calmly. Like he wasn’t facing Death Herself!

“Something you lost,” she said and revealed a sword she was hiding under the veils.

The only sign that perhaps he’s not all that calm as he looked, was his fists he was clenching so tightly, Pym was surprised there was no blood dripping.

“Why?” he growled lowly.

“I asked her to find it when the tree came to life again,” Merlin was on his way down, “Because it is vital for what’s to happen tonight,” he stood next to Morgana and bowed his head at her in gratitude.

“Um… Why is Lance so unhappy about some sword?” Hector who snapped out of his initial shock, asked the question everybody, surely, wanted to know the answer to.

“Because it’s the Weeping Monk’s sword.” Squirrel said absentmindenly, looking at Morgana fearfully.

Meanwhile, Lady of the Lake rose high above the water and announced with a voice that Pym weirdly could hear inside her head, “Tonight, for the first time in many centuries, we can enjoy the Fey Fire warming up this sacred Tree and celebrate Bealtaine as our ancestor once did. Tonight, for the first time in many centuries, we open our Realm to the Man-Bloods,” she gestured at Lancelot and continued, “And we have our Fire Bearer and King of Gennewis to thank for it. The man who slayed us. The man who saved us. The man whose protection we all seek in this dark hour,” heads turned towards the Ash King who was looking at the Lady somberly.

“Tonight, we will be asking the Hidden for protection for this coming summer... and the coming battle for our survival. Tonight, for the first time since the Sword of Power has been forged in this very Glade, we will forge another weapon,” Lady Viviane continued, “So let the celebrations begin! Let the bellows of the forgery give life to the Fey Swords! Enjoy!” with that, she and the Nine Maidens retreated and disappeared under the lake’s surface, leaving astonished crowds speechless.

_An exit equally as impressive as the entry_ , Pym appreciated the effort and the need for drama.

The Ashers from the island made their way to the Ash Tree and stopped behind Morgana. Lady Evaine came to stand next to her and took out two swords from the linen wrappings she brought with her.

”The Fey Swords will belong to one man only. You, Lancelot,” she said solemnly, “Therefore they will be built with elements that built the man you are today,” she laid a long-sword and a short-sword on the ground, “The first element – the pommel of the King Ban’s sword as you are a son of Gennewis,” she said and stepped away, letting Morgana place the Weeping Monk’s sword next to the other.

“The second one – the blade of the Weeping Monk’s sword as you are a fierce warrior,” the Widow said and stepped aside.

“The third one – Lady Elaine’s short-sword, as you are of Ash Folk as she was… and she gave you her life etched in your facial markings,” Lady Evaine smiled wistfully.

Baudwin appeared from out of nowhere and gathered the weapons, saying, “And the last element – the Fey Fire as you are Fey Protector and the Fire Bearer,” he handed the swords to the men who took them to the island. The old man followed.

Pym blinked few times, chasing the tears away. That was one of the most profound moments of her life. No! That was the most profound moment…night… of her life. And looking at the people around, it was in theirs too. She looked at the man who was in the center of all of it.

Lancelot was standing, motionless. His eyes were shining with tears. But other than that, there was no way of telling of how felt right now. That man was a mystery to her.

“So,” Merlin clapped his hands, his eyes also suspiciously shiny, “The process will take a while, even with the magic involved and help from the Hidden. I propose we have some fun and…”

“…let me guess… and some wine?” Squirrel said cheekily, sniffling and wiping his nose with a sleeve.

Merlin narrowed his eyes at the boy but a moment later smiled and said, “You’re reading my mind, you little snot.”

That made everyone laugh and disperse.

Pym looked curiously around, wondering what happened to Morgana but the woman was gone already. _Hm_ , Pym sighed and joined the festivities.

This year’s Bealtaine was looking very promising.

* * *

“Squirrel, wake up,” Nimue shook the boy lightly. He stirred but stayed asleep. She tried again. Nothing.

It wasn’t surprising he was out of it. He and King Claudas’ youngest daughter and son, along with some other kids, were running around and playing almost the whole night. Now, a mere hour before dawn, they were fast asleep.

She didn’t have a choice though as the Fey Sword was finished and Squirrel wouldn’t forgive her if she allowed him to sleep through the presentation.

So she shook his arm again, “Percival, it is time. Wake up!”

This time he opened one eye, scrunched up his nose, and whined, “Whaat?”

“It. Is. Time,” she chuckled and clapped her hands, “Now get up, you lazy gnom!”

“Fine,” the boy sighed dramatically and sat up, just in time to see the Ash King and King Claudas walking leisurely towards the Throne.

Nimue, after all that had happened in past month, didn’t think Lancelot could surprise her with anything. But she was wrong.

He turned out to be a great host, making sure the visitors from Gaunnes were comfortable and entertained. Also, he had spent the whole night walking from one group to another, chatting and exchanging handshakes with whoever wanted to, might it be a Fey Elder or a Gennwisian commoner. It didn’t matter. They were all equally important to that man.

She caught his eye and smiled. He nodded to her and glanced at Squirrel, then looked back towards the island and gestured at the blacksmiths.

Bors who had been watching the forging ceremony on the island, took his horn out and blew it, getting everybody’s attention. The Glade quietened down at that.

Lancelot and others returned to their seats and watched Baudwin, Merlin, and the Ash smiths approaching them with the finished weapons.

Merlin presented the two swords to the king without saying a word. Before he gave them away though, the men exchanged nods and looked at each other for a while. Finally, Nimue’s father chuckled, wiped his teary eyes and placed the weapons in the younger man’s hands.

Nimue sniffled, seeing how delicately Lancelot was handling them. He caressed the hilt of the short-sword and put it in his old scabbard but kept the long-sword out and gave it a few swirls.

Then, he took a knee with both hands grasping firmly the hilt of the sword, its tip piercing the root he was kneeling on. The moment he rested his forehead against the pommel, the runes engraved in the blade started glowing with a green light and small fragments of the root’s bark and pebbles scattered in the dirt started rising and floating around the blade.

The Fey Sword accepted Lancelot. They were one from now on.

Nimue let out a sob at the profoundness of this quiet moment and everyone’s awestruck reaction to it. Especially Squirrel’s. The unusually serious and quiet boy was looking at the Ash man with complete devotion.

The man glimpsed at the child and winked at him, then stood up and raised the sword high in the air to let everyone see the green flames slowly engulf the blade, the flaming green crown appear above his head, and the markings under his eyes glow.

 _Show-off_ , the Fey Queen smirked, seeing people gasping in amazement. Even the hard to impress skeptics like King Claudas or Arthur were gaping and slowly shaking their heads in astonishment.

Once the spectacle was over, Lancelot simply put the sword into another scabbard on his belt and looked at Squirrel, saying casually, “We need to start your training, my boy.”

“We do?”, the boy’s eyes were like saucers.

The king gestured at Baudwin, who handed him a leather bundle. Then Lancelot nodded at Gawain, who came and stood at his side. Lastly, he looked at Nimue and reached his hand out to her, which she took without hesitation.

“Percival, kneel,” the Ash man said solemnly.

The boy looked around as if not sure whether it was he who was spoken to. Then quietly, without the usual cockiness, he took a knee and looked at the three of them.

Each of them took their swords out and placed their tips on Squirrel’s right shoulder.

“I dub you Sir Fey Knight of the House of Squirrel,” Lancelot said solemnly and the three adults moved their blades to the boy’s left shoulder.

“I dub you Fey Queen’s Messenger,” Nimue said regally.

“And I…,” Gawain hesitated, obviously trying to think of something, “…I dub you the Royal Pain In The…”

“Stand up, Sir Percival…” Lancelot butted in, “I present you with your weapon, which you will respect and take care of like it’s your limb,” he knelt in front of the bearly-breathing boy and helped him wrap the belt of a scabbard his tiny waist. Then he got up and said, “Do you swear to protect the people who put their lives and trust in you, Percival?”

“I do,” the child said quietly, looking up at the man who meant so much to him.

“Rise up, Sir Knight,” Nimue ordered with a smile and the Glade exploded in ovations.


	18. Soon...

[ ](https://sta.sh/0j0jog0pfow)

“Watch your feet, boy,” Percival got the wind knocked out of him when his back hit the ground after one quick swing of a wooden staff at his feet. Lancelot was stalking around him like a predator, ready to attack again, “Get up,” he ordered.

The boy scrambled off the ground, looking around the castle courtyard for anything that would help him, unsuccessfully. He sighed disappointedly, grasped his staff with both hands, and complained, “Maybe if we fought with real weapons, I would have the motivation to try harder.”

“If we fought with real weapons, all you’d have is bleeding stumps instead of feet now,” the man smirked, “Besides, staff _is_ a real weapons – you could kill somebody with it.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Percival grumbled and attacked with the staff raised high above his head. He didn’t even finish the maneuver when Asher tapped the his chest with the tip of his stick, toppling the boy over onto his back again.

 _That’s not fair!_ the boy whined internally. Externally, he sat up and kicked at Lancelot’s boots petulantly, “Why do I even have my Grail if I cannot use it?”

“Grail?” the adult raised his eyebrows, “What sort of name for a sword is it?”

“Good as any,” Percival shrugged, “I’ve been wanting to have a real sword so much and now when I have it, it feels like I completed a life-long quest so I won't have my choice of the name questioned!” Percival said dramatically and then smiled at the thought of his beloved sword, all shiny and new.

He thought about the beautiful engravings on the guard, the leather-wrapped hilt, and the pommel that had an image of a squirrel in a tree – the Ash Clan tree, engraved. He loved that sword. He still didn’t quite believe he finally had his very own weapon! Less than w week ago, all he had had was a rusty little knife that was good for nothing. And now…

“A life-long quest, huh? Aren’t you exaggerating a bit?” the king smiled, “You’re not even a decade old,” he shook his head, “Besides, yours and your _Grail’s_ quest to become a fearsome duo is only starting…”

“What did you call your sword, Lancelot?” Nimue asked, emerging from a shady corner of the courtyard. Lancelot whipped his head towards her, startled. And then just stared like he always did whenever the Fey Queen showed up.

Percival wasn’t going to pass up on this distraction and rolled quickly towards the king and cut his legs out from under him, making the big man fall on his arse. Ha!

“Watch your feet, Your Highness,” the boy said mockingly, got up, and did a little victory dance, laughing happily. Nimue and a few spectators to this defeat also laughed. Lancelot didn’t.

He just sat up on the ground, shaking his head, “Percival, you cannot just hope somebody won’t pay attention…”

“…especially when that _somebody_ is too busy making sweet eyes at a girl?” the child stuck out his tongue at the man.

“Squirrel, behave yourself,” Nimue chuckled and joined them, sitting down on the ground right next to Lancelot.

"What can one do when said girl is a witch and enchants you every time she lays her eyes on you?" Lancelot murmured quietly, taking the woman's hand and looking at her like...

 _Yuck…Why are they so ridiculous?_ Percival didn’t appreciate the adults looking at each other like they wanted to do what Pym and Hector had been doing when he caught them at Lionel’s wedding feast four days ago. _Kissing is so disgusting_ , he couldn’t phantom why anybody would choose to do it instead…instead of doing _anything_ else!

 _Also, the endless need to touch each other is straight-up weird_ , he thought, watching Nimue delicately tracing the man’s markings… _Like she’s just discovered them!_ the boy rolled his eyes and scrunched his nose, seeing Lancelot grabbing her hand and kissing the palm. _Eww…_

“So what name did you give your sword?” Nimue asked a few moments later, playing with a hem of the kings tunic.

“I didn’t,” he said simply, shrugging.

“What about your Monk’s sword?” Percival asked, glad they abandoned their silly behaviour… at least for now.

The man shook his head, “It also had no name.”

“Why not?”

“It was forbidden. Naming objects was considered sinful by Father Carden,” the king looked around as if he was about to tell them his biggest secret, “But I named my horse,” he whispered conspiratorially.

“Goliath? Why would that be forbidden?” the boy was confused, “Horses are not objects. They are living beings.”

“They were considered to be inferior and our _tools_ … just like swords,” the Ash man looked sad.

 _He must be missing Goliath_ , the young Fey thought. Kaze assured Lancelot his horse was well and in good hands but the man missed and worried about his four-legged friend anyway.

“Cheer up, Lancelot. You’ll see Goliath in a week!” Percival said, getting up and dusted off the knees of his leggings. 

Suddenly he heard the local kids outside the courtyard and looked hopefully at his mentor, “Can I go now?”

The man nodded, looking at the queen, “Go play with your friends.”

Percival grimaced, seeing both of the adults being back on their nonsense and took off.

“Squirrel!” the boy halted immediately, hearing the man calling him by his nickname, and looked back, “You did well today, Sir,” the king smiled at him.

He smiled back and said, “You – not so much… Your Highness,” he grinned, bowed lowly, and he was gone.

* * *

“That kid needs a good spanking, I swear,” Lancelot watched Percival disappear around the corner and shook his head, “One of these days, somebody will snap and cane his back like never before,” his attempt at being stern and serious was ruined by his eyes crinkling with mirth in the corners.

“Well, that will never happen then,” Nimue said, amused, “Since that _somebody_ won’t be you for sure and…”

“…and you’d skin anybody who would even think about putting a finger on that child,” Gawain finished for her, laughing. Lancelot hadn’t noticed the Knight in the courtyard before. As well as grinning Galehaut, Bors, and Arthur.

The king was happy to see those men growing so close so quickly. Especially Gawain and Galehaut who had become inseparable since they had met mere days earlier.

All four were very important in his life. Even Arthur. Though the Ash man would rather cut his own tongue out before confessing it out loud.

Lancelot liked and respected Arthur and he knew the man didn’t despise him either. But since neither of them would ever admit it, they were stuck in this passive-aggressive limbo.

Gawain was like an older brother to Lancelot as well as a mentor-figure, despite being only several years older than Asher. The Knight had the wisdom of an ancient man and the fighting skills of a most ferocious warrior. And he had accepted the Weeping Monk just on the idea of what he could become.

Galehaut was the same he had been as a kid – very tall, very funny, and very charming. He also had strong leadership skills and a mind built for tactics and logistics - just what a Grand Commander of the kingdom’s armies should possess in his skillset. The King of Gennewis was proud to have him by his side.

Bors turned out to be a truly loyal companion as well as a smart and forward-thinking man – an adviser any king would want to have. It was he who had come up with an idea of splitting the armies and approaching King Uther’s castle from several different points.

Lancelot, Nimue, Arthur, Red Spear, and the Ash Clan were to go join the Fey, the Vikings, and Uther on the coast, and march straight for the Pendragon Castle. Bors, Kaze, and the Britannia’s Fey were going to approach from the east, arriving from the North Sea. Gawain and Galahaut would meet the Pictish and Eireann Celts south of Hadrian’s Wall, where Gawain’s _mysterious_ ally was to show up too.

After the decisions were made, Merlin suggested he should go ahead earlier to ensure Uther wouldn't switch the sides. And so, the sorcerer disappeared in a cloud of smoke and lightning in the middle of the last council meeting.

All in all, they would face Rome’s and Cumber’s armies head-on, no sneaking behind and trying to be cunning…to Percival’s displeasure, of course.

Percival…he was going to be a problem. _He won’t take the orders to stay in Gallia well,_ Lancelot sighed, knowing it would take a lot to ensure the boy wouldn’t sneak onto one of the ships. That’s why he needed Pym to stay behind and mind him as she was one of a handful of people Percival trusted and obeyed… sort of.

He shook his head again and said grimly, “One day _soon_ , I will look away for long enough _not_ to see that little demon getting what he deserves.”

“We all can only dream…” Nimue smiled at him and rubbed his arm.

 _Cheeky patronising Witch_ , he thought tenderly but looked at her sternly. She just pursed her lips innocently.

Suddenly he heard a thud and looked towards where the sound had come from and saw Arthur stripping off his tunic and going for the staff Percival had dropped earlier.

“How about we’ll have a little tournament?” he asked, looking at Lancelot daringly.

“A tournament?” the Queen looked at him curiously, “What would be the prize for the winner?”

“The prize – the right to teach Squirrel some manners without the Weeping Nanny coming after the winner,” Arthur announced, wiggling his brows, “And the bonus prize – a chance to kick his royal arse,” he finished, pointing at the king and nodding excitedly. The men guffawed. Nimue cackled. Lancelot stared at Arthur blankly.

He… didn’t hate the idea of beating up that arrogant Brit again.

“I’m in,” Galehaut said, taking off the ornate outer layers of his clothing and looking expectantly at Gawain.

The Knight smiled widely and raised his hand, saying, “Count me in,” and looked at Bors who just laughed and started stripping.

“Um… Do I have a say?” Lancelot enquired with his eyebrows raised as high as possible. He got up off the ground and helped Nimue up.

She snickered, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, “I don’t think you do, Your Highness.”

“That’s settled then. Let’s beat the living daylight out of the Monk, lads!” Arthur seemed giddy at the prospect, “Just give me few moments before we start,” he said and ran out of the courtyard, to everyone's surprise.

Soon, they could hear him calling for people to join them, tempting everyone in the vicinity with witnessing the greatest spectacle Gennewis have ever seen.

And soon, they could see with their own eyes how quickly the castle’s courtyard and its galleries could fill with crowds. Crowds that included Lady Evaine, Kaze, and the very Fey boy who was _the prize_.

There weren’t any speeches made. Nimue only greeted everyone and introduced the participants. When Lancelot finished unbuckling the belts and stripping to undershirt and leggings, she walked up to him, took out one of the feathers adorning her hair, and slipped it into his bun, saying, “This is a token of my faith in you, my Champion.”

That was followed by a thorough kiss that had the entire everybody roaring and whistling in delight, “And that’s for good luck, my King,” she caressed his cheek, “Now go show everyone who they are trying to mess with,” she smiled widely and joined grinning Kaze and his aunt.

* * *

Percival rushed towards the hastily put together dais where king and the Fey queen were sitting, drinking cider served by a local innkeeper.

He was amazed how quickly the place, he had been merely a couple of hours ago, turned into a full-blown feast. It helped that the King of Gennewis won the tournament… but still, it was impressive.

When he watched Lancelot’s hypnotising fighting style, he decided never to complain about his training again. The man _obviously_ knew what he was talking about! And Percival needed to remember that he was only a kid and his journey to be a real knight had only started… just like the Ash man said.

“You gave them a solid beating, Lancelot!” the boy complimented the king when they reached their table.

“Hey, kid… I thought you were on my side,” Gawain teased him, settling next to the king, “After all, you followed me everywhere in Britannia… even to the Red Paladins’ camp.”

“I know,” Percival grimaced apologetically, “But it looks like you were just a means to an end. In this case – Lancelot,” he smiled cheekily and said, “And I’m not even sorry for it.”

Astonished Green Knight looked at Galehaut for a moment and they both burst out laughing, leaning towards each other. Galehaut rested his forehead on Gawain’s shoulder and kept cackling, his shoulder shaking with mirth.

“So…what is the prize?” the Fey boy asked curiously, trying to give Blanch time to compose herself.

“You don’t want to know, my boy,” Lancelot sighed, “Trust me, you don’t.”

“But…”

“Do me a favour, Sir Percival, and go torment Arthur,” the king smirked, “He hates me winning more than he hates losing,” he winked and went back to his queen.

Percival didn’t need any more encouragement. He walked towards Arthur, calling out to him, “Arthur! They say third time’s a charm, but you surely must see by now it’s not the case here…”

* * *

Nimue couldn’t take her eyes off the king, who was strolling around the courtyard and shaking hands with the people who wanted to congratulate him on the win. He was accompanied by cheerful Bors and Lionel. The younger of the brothers had missed his chance to take part in the competition but didn’t seem to be upset about it as he was still drunk on the happiness of a newly-wed.

Nimue couldn’t take her eyes off Lancelot. His skin was glistening with sweat, some of his hair got out of the bun, and the damp white undershirt he was wearing was sticking to his torso in places that made her mouth water. He looked so beautiful and so youthful with the healthy blush on his cheeks and a boyish smile.

It made her sad that he’d been robbed of a carefree childhood. She remembered hers and suddenly all the wild adventures she’d had made her appreciate what she’d had more. Especially compared to Lancelot who by the time he hit puberty, had already been through what no child should ever go through.

Nimue couldn’t take her eyes off him… and so, apparently, neither could women gathered here!

 _Calm down, Nim. He’s as innocent as first snow and probably has no clue what commotion he’s causing_ , she scolded herself and tried not to stare… until she overheard two young maids, standing nearby and giggling.

“…such a fine man,” gushed one.

“If his prowess between the sheets is anywhere close to the level of his fighting mastery, I envy the fortunate gal who’ll manage to lure him into her cot,” the other one giggled and made a suggestive gesture.

“I may give it a go… Who knows, I may get lucky and get meself some of that delicious king between me legs,” both cackled at that and walked away.

Nimue was left gaping, appalled. They dared talk about their king like he was a piece of meat!

She could feel the rage warming up her cheeks. Angry whispers taunted her in her mind and called for retaliation. Oh, how she loved the sensation of the Airmid’s FIngers slithering under the skin of her face and getting ready to attack those loathsome creatures who dared disrespect _her_ Lancelot…

“...Nimue, stop,” Kaze’s order got through the red mist of rage that was consuming her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart, “That’s it. Breathe. Everything is fine. You’re fine,” the Bexare sat on a chair next to hers and chanted those words until the vine markings were completely gone from Nimue’s face.

“Thank you,” she whispered to her friend and opened her eyes and saw people looking at her fearfully.

“What was that all about?” Kaze enquired, rubbing circles on her back.

“Or rather, _who_ was that all about?” Gawain smirked, amused. Of course! He had to overhear the filthy chatter too. They were sitting at one table after all.

Before she had a chance to snap at him, he leaned over to his faithful companion and whispered something into his ear. Galehaut immediately got up and disappeared into the crowd.

The Knight looked back at the women and said seriously, “Nim, there is virtually nothing… and no one… you should be jealous of, my friend,” he smiled, patting her hand, “I’ve never seen a man more in love than our dear Monk,” he winked and laughed lightly, “But to be fair, you should get used to those situations as he is a _fine man_ and you’re not the only one seeing it.”

“Aah… So you got your knickers in a knot because of someone lusting after your sweetheart?” Kaze chuckled and shook her head, “My poor, poor girl,” she got up, leaned down, and kissed the queen on the crown of her head and walked away, quietly laughing to herself.

Nimue felt silly. She overreacted…as usual. And now she was watching worried-looking Lancelot making his way to her, with Galehaut at his side. She cursed herself for acting like a child.

“Nimue, are you ok?” Asher knelt in front of her and cradled her face in his hands.

“Yes, I am,” she mumbled, feeling the traitorous heat in her cheeks, “I just… I… um…”

“She just lost it because of certain things that were said about you… in a very… hm… explicitly dirty way,” _ever-so-helpful_ Gawain supplied the answer cheerfully…and loudly enough to have heads turning to them curiously.

Nimue wanted to die of humiliation. She tried to pull away from Lancelot to cover her face with her hands but he wouldn’t allow it. He simply sat next to her and pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her tightly and letting her hide her face in the crook of his neck.

“Good,” he said to Gawain with satisfaction and then said quietly to her, “I’d rip apart anyone disrespecting you, my sweet.”

She grinned into his neck and kissed and nibbled at his the delicate skin where her lips were brushing against. He responded with tightening his arms around her back and growling lowly which she felt vibrating deep in her core.

Nimue bit on her lip, delighted with his reaction, then she raised her head and smiled innocently at him, “Shall we have some cider, Your Highness?”

She nearly squealed with joy seeing his beautiful blue eyes darkening rapidly and staring at her intensly.

 _Soon_ , she promised herself, returning his piercing gaze.

* * *

_What is this Witch doing to me?!_ Lancelot groaned internally, watching her sipping on the sweet cider glancing at him shyly... and oh-so seductively.

He might not have any experience but he wasn’t a complete idiot on the subject. Admittedly, most of what he knew came from Father Carden but he’d learnt more by eaves-dropping on the monks discussing _the process_ in detail just to condemn it as sinful and barbaric.

Lancelot was a sinner. Every night his mind conjured images that Father Carden would have him burned at the stake, quartered, and drowned for. Every night the memory of the events at the moonlit waterfall came back with a force that had him shaking and sweating, and wriggling in his bed. Every night, he swore he wouldn’t do anything unless Nimue gave him her permission.

And she just had. With her eyes, with her smile, with her sweet kisses.

 _Soon_ , he promised himself, finishing his pin..

Pleased Lancelot looked around the courtyard, not minding at all that this run-of-the-mill afternoon turned into this… feast. Especially knowing that most of them would be on their way to Britannia within the next two days. And some, likely, wouldn’t come back.

On a whim, the king stood up and banged his tankard on the table to get everyone’s attention.

When the courtyard fell silent, he spoke, “This time, two days from now, we will be making our way to Britannia, to fight for our freedom,” he paused, searching for the right words, “I want to express my eternal gratitude for all of you who pledged yourselves to a cause that isn’t yours but you decided to help out of the goodness of your hearts anyway. I am proud of you for letting the Fey Folk into your fold and not treating us with prejudice. And most of all, it's a great honour for me to be able to call myself a Gennewisian,” his voice trembled a little.

He felt Nimue’s hand’s soothing caress on his back that gave him the strength to compose himself. ”So let’s enjoy this day. Let’s celebrate our beautiful kingdom, both human and Fey,” he smiled, “And let’s not forget, we will see each other _soon_ ,” he raised his tankard, saying, “Brothers and sisters, to freedom!”

The courtyard exploded in ovation and cheers, and chants.

* * *

[ ](https://sta.sh/01kpp4ag8rzl)

Percival watched the ships leaving the harbour with tears streaming down his cheeks. Would he ever see them again? He dreaded the thought that he might be on his own again. But what terrified him even more, was the possibility he might never see Lancelot or Nimue, or Gawain again.

When Lancelot had told him he wouldn’t be going with them, the boy didn’t protest. He knew. He knew that this one time he should obey as he knew what was at stake. He knew that if he went anyway, he would endanger the people he loved. Because they would be too focused onprotecting the boy to see incoming arrows.

So, in a way, he was protecting them. But it hurt more than anything he’d ever experienced!

The king told him to practice reading, writing, and fighting – in that order, and that he would know if he skipped anything and he'd take his Grail away if he didn't listen to Pym and Hector, _and_ Lady Evaine.

Percival was aware the man was just trying to lighten the mood mere minutes before disappearing onboard of one of many galleons that were waiting to depart. 

In the last moment before leaving, the man hugged him tightly. The boy could feel Lancelot's the tears on the back of his neck and attempted to joke about but that landed flat as it was hard to understand the child through the sobbing that was wracking his little body.

They both needed each other. They both loved each other. They both grasped onto the hope they’ll meet again.

“They’ll be back _soon_ ,” Hector put his hand on Percival’s shoulder and smiled reassuringly.

And so on that rainy, stormy morning, Sit Percival of the House of Squirrel swore he would never give up hope.


	19. Nimue and Lancelot

[ ](https://sta.sh/01qfkhw2e4h5)

The raging storm was an adequate reflection of Merlin's anger. The waves were beating mercilessly at the rocky cliffs, rumbling thunder was tearing through the dark sky lit up with jagged veins of lightning.

He knew he should stop because the Fey were out there, in the middle of this volatile sea and he didn’t want them to get hurt. But he couldn’t help it. He shouldn’t attempt to restrain it in any way. Or else he would have to give in to the Dark Lord’s desire to have him harbour the despair and fury he felt, just like when he had allowed the Sword to have his will in its grasp.

So he let the storm rage and hoped the Ash Folk were as good sailors as they were warriors.

Bors and Kaze had arrived safely on the east coast two days ago and Gawain and Galehaut had reached their northern meeting point previous morning.

But the most important to him was to get Nimue and Lancelot to the shore, unharmed. And, after almost six days since they had left Gallia, there was still no news. It was time to send them a message and hope it would reach their fleet.

His grim musings were interrupted by the pounding on the door of his chamber. _How nice Uther kept it for me_ , Merlin thought ironically.

“What!” he shouted angrily.

“Merlin, let us in, please,” Uther’s voice was muffled by the thick wood of the door. The sorcerer wasn’t sure whether he should allow the king in as he couldn’t trust his self-control.

But Pendragon was his weak spot so he eventually opened the door and stared at the man blankly.

“We're sorry, Merlin. we truly are,” the king was groveling… which the magician didn’t find unsatisfying, “We panicked. We didn’t know what to do!”

Merlin believed him. He was still furious but he believed Uther as Rugen was a crafty old bastard and managed to corner the poor boy when Merlin had been away in the north, and talked him into allowing the Lepers to camp on his coastal lands while their King was awaiting the arrival of his _bride_ – Nimue.

 _Luckily_ , Uther agreed to that, and only because of it, Cumber and Wicklow hadn’t found out from Rugen about the Fey coming back to fight, which would inevitably happen if he was refused. But now they had to find a way to get rid of the Lepers somehow.

Merlin knew all that but still wasn’t ready to let go of his anger at the king. _Runs in the family_ , he thought about his daughter’s outbursts and smiled wistfully.

“We need to buy them more time,” the sorcerer said stroking his chin.

“Maybe if you told her to separate from the army and head to the Pendragon Castle through the Lakelands, Rugen could be convinced the Fey Witch was to reach Britannia elsewhere and might leave in search of her,” Uther suggested.

“Yes,” the sorcerer said thoughtfully, “That may work…”

Another thunder and lightning ripped through the night sky when the men left Merlin’s chambers and went to the aviary to send a message to the Fey Queen.

* * *

The immense relief Nimue felt when the blurred contours of boats docked in the port emerged from the sea mist in the early morning, could only be compared to the moment she learned Squirrel would be fine after he’d gotten injured.

She looked at Lancelot who was holding her pressed against his side. He smiled at her encouragingly. They were both tied to the mast pole by their waists – a precautionary measure to ensure they wouldn’t get washed away by the waves that had been sweeping over the galleon for the last four days and nights.

Now, the sea was calm enough for them to attempt to approach the port and they couldn’t waste that opportunity. A dozen of galleons anchored in the bay, as close to the shore as possible so the longboats, taking as many people and their baggage as they could, wouldn’t have to travel through the stormy sea for too long.

When they boarded the last of the longboats, Lancelot nodded at the captain who steered the boat away from the port, towards the mouth of a river to the north. The message from Merlin had reached them the previous evening and, as much as they wanted to go with everyone else, they knew this was the only rational solution for now.

The news about Rugen was worrying but not disastrous. Besides, the Fey Queen felt safe with the Ash man at her side. She also trusted Arthur and Red Spear to take good care of the Ash Folk until they could join the clan and others again.

Sometime later, Nimue and Lancelot disappeared between the sandy banks of the river and moved towards the Cumbrian mountains.

“Merlin must be really furious,” Lancelot said, looking at the stormy sky from a relatively dry spot underneath a tree growing at the edge of a forest.

“It is a bit overdramatic, even for him,” Nimue agreed, trying to wring the soaked sleeves of her tunic.

When the man didn’t respond in any way, she looked at him. He was gazing into a distance with an amused smile.

When he noticed her staring, he deadpanned, “It seems to be a pattern in your family… Witch.”

She grabbed a handful of grass and threw it at his grinning face, “And you better remember it… Monk,” she grinned back.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll make sure I won’t forget, my lady,” he smirked and got up, readying himself to leave, “We should move. It’s a two-day trek before we reach the Pendragon Castle.”

“Two days?” Nimue was confused. She thought the Castle was right on the coast and they were just to circle it, “How come?”

“The seashore fortress Merlin is currently residing in is just one of the castles in King Uther’s possession. Admittedly, his favourite one,” Lancelot said, fixing his scabbard belts, “But the Pendragon Castle is inland, almost halfway to the east coast.”

“Oh, that suits me then.”

“ _Oh, that’s suits me then_?” he repeated her word back at her as he seemed not to be getting the meaning of those words.

“Yes, that’s fine with me, ” she got up and wrapped her wet cloak around her shoulders tightly, “That means we’ll have two days for each other and I’m not wasting a minute of it,” she walked up to him and kissed his chin, then just sauntered away.

After a few moments of silence, she heard him saying in a low voice, “You’re asking for trouble, Witch.”

Nimue stopped and looked at him seriously, “Yes. Yes, I am,” she said simply, grabbed her bag and walked into the forest.

There was something about this situation that made her feel giddy and naughty, and care-free. Maybe it was because there were no prying eyes around them and she had Lancelot truly to herself for the first time since they’d met. Maybe, because she finally had a chance to make him _hers_. 

Whatever it was, she felt bold… and she liked it.

* * *

It had been hours and Lancelot was still bewildered by Nimue’s words. It had been hours and Lancelot still wasn’t able to form a sensible sentence so he’d reverted to his usual quiet self.

Nimue didn’t seem to mind his _Weeping-Monk-mood_ , as she called it. She didn’t seem to mind the relentless rain accompanying them since they left Gallia either. She stayed cheerful, humming happily, curious of the surrounding mountainous landscape they were walking through.

The Lakelands turned out to be a green, lush place with a river running between the mountain tops.

Within the first hours of following the river, as per Merlin’s directions, he realised that if they were to stay in Britannia forever, this would be the place he’d want to settle in.

 _We could live right here, in a little cottage tucked into a hillside_ , he daydreamed and turned back to look at Nimue. She looked at him and smiled sweetly.

 _Can she read my mind?_ he shook his head at the nonsensical thought and marched on, determined to find some dry spot soon.

Lancelot didn’t want to admit he was tired but when they reached the Great Lake just before the sun reached the zenith, he sighed, relieved. Days of the sea journey, constant fighting against the elements, and the strenuous trek in the rain made him weary.

“This must be the most beautiful spot in Britannia, I swear!” Nimue exclaimed excitedly and ran to the shore just to dip her fingers in the water.

He laughed quietly. That woman amazed him on every corner. All that rain and angry sea waves hadn’t diminished her enthusiasm for the water at all.

He let her enjoy her alone-time while he was looking around for a suitable spot to rest. He found a lone old beech tree, growing mere twenty yards from the lake, which was surrounded by the stunning hilly landscape. The tree was huge and its dense canopy ensured they wouldn’t get rained on.

Finding dry firewood wasn’t an easy task but when he finally came back to their camp from the nearby woodland, he was carrying an impressive stack of wood under his cloak as well as two rabbits and some edible roots.

Nimue was still gone so he took his time to start the fire and preparing the rabbits for roasting. Once he was done with it, he took his soaked cloak, tunic, and boots off and set them to dry.

Soon, the girl came back.

He didn’t notice, at first, that she wasn’t completely clothed. When he finally looked her over, he found out that all she was wearing was her wet mid-thigh long, now-see-through, undershirt.

Lancelot turned his eyes away quickly and swallowed hard. His hands started shaking. Other than that and the fact he’d lost the ability to speak – everything was just fine.

She smiled at him innocently and spread her clothes next to his to dry, then sat on the ground on the opposite side of the fire.

 _What is she up to?_ He looked at her suspiciously, resting his back against the tree trunk, and looking intently at the lake’s surface rippling with raindrops.

“How long?” she asked casually after a few minutes.

“ _How long_ what?” confused Lancelot turned the roasting rabbits over the fire, avoiding her gaze.

“How long before we can eat?”

“Not long. But you can have some bread now if you want,” he offered and started going through his satchel.

“I don’t want bread, Lancelot,” her voice sounded so strained now, he looked up from his bag, he saw her looking at him intensely.

“What do you want then, Nimue?” he asked breathlessly, not daring to move.

“You.”

“Now?” he asked dumbly, swallowing audibly.

“Yes, now…” the corners of her lips tightened in the corners as if she was trying not to smile, “…but I can wait until we are done eating.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled, staring at the fire and feeling like his face was about to combust with the embarrassment of his idiocy.

Did he really just thank her? _Real smooth, man_ , he scolded himself. _Get a grip! You knew it would eventually come to this… You’ve wanted it to happen! When will be the next time we’ll have a chance to spend time alone together? Don’t ruin it now!_

“…are burning,” Nimue’s words took him out of his panicked musings, “Lancelot!” this time she raised her voice.

“Huh?” he looked at her, still stupefied.

“The rabbits…” she pointed at their meal, “…are burning,” she finished with a knowing smirk.

He looked at the charred meat, muttered a curse and put the rabbits away. He took a deep breath. They still might be able to save some. But not now. Now…

“Nimue,” he sat up and rested the clenched fists on his bent knees, then lowered his head and just stared at her. The amusement on her face was gone now, her eyes went wide and it seemed she started breathing a little bit shallower.

He finally felt in control of the situation. He liked it.

“Lancelot…” she didn’t sound cocky anymore, her voice trembled.

“Come here.”

* * *

Nimue’s breath hitched when she heard the commanding tone of his voice. Her heart sped up and her mouth went dry. But she didn’t move, hypnotised by the unmoving stare of his darkened eyes.

“Now,” Lancelot growled, his voice so guttural, it made her stomach flutter in anticipation.

She stood up obediently, padded to him, and sat on her heels right in front of the man, putting her hands on his fists. They simply looked at each other for the longest time.

“Lanc…”

“Nimue, I don’t know what you’re imagining will happen here,” he looked at her seriously, “But I just want to warn you it may be a great disappointment for you as I have no clue what to do,” he stated honestly with a strong voice. He wasn’t embarrassed about his inexperience, that one thing was certain, “I’m stumbling in the dark, armed only with my instincts and some monks’ gossip …”

“And you’re doing great so far, my darling,” she whispered, leaned forward and kissed his knuckles, then rested her chin on his fist and gently smiled at him.

“Am I?” he asked hesitantly, exposing the unsure boy he really was underneath that demanding man. She just nodded in response.

“Will you guide me, Nimue?” he finished quietly, his thumb caressing her cheek.

She chuckled and said, “My dear Lancelot, I think we are in the same boat here.”

“But you and Arthur…” he frowned, confused.

“Once, my love. Only once. So I’m no expert either,” she looked at him pointedly, then turned her head slightly and kissed his thumb that was rubbing little patterns on her cheek. Her eyes never left his.

The world around them dissolved to the sound of the rain’s pitter-patter, the lake’s water gently lapping at the shore, and the crackling of the fire.

She instinctively opened her mouth and let her teeth graze gently on his salty-tasting skin, then closed her lips around the tip of his thumb.

That made the irises of his eyes turn into two black pools and his fists to clench even harder. He freed his hand from under her chin and took her hand, lightly pulling her to him.

“Come to me, my beloved,” his voice was hoarse, his face determined. She got up just to straddle him and wrap her arms around his neck. His arms circled her waist, pressing her tightly to his feverish body. He whispered against her lips, “Come and love me, my Witch.”

* * *

Nimue knew that what was happening wasn’t the earth-shattering experience she’d heard of, or even had gone through herself.

Lancelot knew that what was happening wasn’t like the feeling of bliss the holy scriptures referred to as achieving the deepest state of faith.

They both knew it was so much more.

From the moment she helped him peel off their clothes while gently rocking her hips against his, he knew he belonged to her with his body and soul.

From the moment he laid her gently on the wet grass, and his hands and lips marked every inch of her body, she knew there would be no other.

They both were lost to their joining completely.

She held his hands tight on her hips while was chasing her bliss atop him. She summoned the vines that wrapped around his arms ensuring he wouldn’t let go of her. And he held on to her like his life depended on it.

He held her hands above her head, pressed against the wet ground, while he was exploring her welcoming and snug warmth. He let his skin don the colours and texture of the surrounding flora. She welcomed it when his healing markings appeared on her milky skin too.

They both looked into each other’s eyes, sharing the moments of their joint ecstasy.

She was a wild lover. He was a vocal one.

Between the whispers and sighs, and moans, they would find a moment to share breathy laughter.

Between the kisses and thrusts, and intimate caress, they would enjoy the instants of stillness and quiet assurances of their feelings.

And when all was done and they were resting in each other’s arms, they noticed that the ground around them was covered with freshly bloomed daisies. They noticed that the campfire had turned into the green Fey Fire.

They laughed happily at that, knowing that they had the Hidden’s blessing.

She looked at him with such love, the silent tears would mark his cheeks.

He looked at her with such devotion, the quiet sobs would rack her body.

They finally found themselves. They finally found each other. They were one.

* * *

Lancelot woke up from his nap to the most beautiful view.

Tucked to his side, was Nimue. Warm, naked, with tussled hair. Her head was resting on his shoulder, her arm was thrown across his chest. She was perfect... even when snoring like a hog.

He chuckled silently and looked around while his fingertips were drawing lazy patterns on her back.

The weather was turning. It was still raining but the rain was mixing with sunbeams peeking through the clouds, creating a few beautiful rainbows and reflective sunny curtain, bringing the feeling of serenity.

“Nimue, wake up,” he said quietly with his lips pressed against her forehead.

“Mmm?” she snuggled as close as possible into his side.

“You have to see this,” he nudged her lightly.

She grumbled and opened one eye, “It better be worth it, Monk,” she smiled at him sleepily. The seductive tenderness of this smile made him want to burrow deep into her yet again.

“I promise, it is worth it… Witch,” he smirked at her, “Besides we need to move anyway,” he sighed, sorry they had to leave their little piece of paradise so soon.

They spent some time enjoying the amazing transition from the wet, gloomy day to this glorious sunny afternoon.

“Mm… you’re right, it was worth it,” she agreed and sat up, stretching. Then she looked at him and wiggled her brows, “Fancy a bath, Your Highness?”

He returned her gaze and bowed his head, saying, “Who am I to refuse my Queen?”

The wonders of the landscape got forgotten as they took their time in the sweet waters of the lake.

It was well into the night when they stopped and set up a camp in a small wooded area at the foot of a mountain. The terrain changed to more bare and rocky. It was still green but lacked the lushness surrounding the Great Lake.

“Let’s get some sleep,” Lancelot said, making a fire small enough to be quickly extinguished if needed, “Tomorrow’s route is a difficult one and we need to be rested to tackle it.”

“Should we go around then?” Nimue asked, lying down and covering herself with his cloak.

“It would probably be faster but it is better to travel through the mountains. They'll give us some cover from the Lepers. Besides, we should trust Merlin – he advised this route after all.”

“Good” he could see her cheeky smile, even though he tried to hide it under the cloak.

The man smiled and shook his head, knowing she was happy to have their time alone extended. He lied next to her and took her into his arms. She molded herself to fit snuggly against him and sighed happily.

“As much as I’d love to just stay here with you forever, we have to get to the castle as soon as possible,” he kissed her gently and tucked some stray hairs behind her ear.

“I know. I just sometimes wish I was just… not that,” she grimaced slightly but then looked at him with adoration, “But then I wouldn’t meet you, would I?” her fingers were gently playing with the stubble covering his jaw.

“I have a feeling we would meet anyway, my love,” he grabbed her hand, kissed her fingers, and pressed it to his chest.

“You know what? Me too,” it was the last thing he heard before he falling into a peaceful sleep.

Lancelot roused suddenly with a feeling of being watched. He sat up and closed his eyes, trying to focus on his senses, then turned his head towards where he felt a wave of chill reaching for him and looked.

In a distance, surrounded by an early morning mist crawling on the dew-covered grass, a familiar figure, covered in black veils, was waiting for him.

He untangled himself gently from Nimue’s embrace, got up quietly, and made sure she was covered and asleep before going to meet the visitor.

“Could you not wait at least till the sunrise, Widow?” he asked when he joined her by two giant boulders that seemed to be guarding an entrance to a narrow passage.

“If I did, Nimue would be awake and I wanted to see you alone,” the woman explained and then added, “And please, call me Morgana, as my friends do,” she tilted her head and smiled at him, “At least I hope we are friends… Lancelot?”

He shrugged, “I don’t really know anything about you besides that you help the dying leave the mortal life behind and that you’re Nimue’s friend, and Arthur’s sister.”

“And yet, you helped me and Nimue out in the Abbey, before all that” she pointed at her robes.

“What?” he frowned, confused, and looked at her, trying to remember where they had possibly met in the Abbey. He figured she was talking about that one time he could catch the Witch…but he didn’t.

“That’s right. Now you’re finally catching up,” she nodded, content.

 _She’s a mind-reader_ , he worried. _What sort of tricks could she use on me then?_

“Fret not, Lancelot. I’m here as a friend and an ally. I shall not read your innermost thoughts,” she stated seriously but then looked at Nimue and smirked, “Although it is not hard to guess what your mind is occupied with at the moment.”

He looked to where his Queen was asleep, blissfully unaware of this conversation, and then sent a crooked smile to Morgana, feeling the heat on his cheeks.

She chuckled, “It’s fine. She’d been longing for you for so long that the news of you, finally, making a move, came as a great relief to me. I’ve never seen her that happy,” she nodded at him with gratitude.

“Shouldn’t you be…um.. _not_ happy about that? After all, she’s your brother’s…”

“Ah, that little fling?” she waved her hand dismissively, “I’m glad it didn’t work out and let’s leave it at that,” she winked at him, then pointed at the passage and said, “Would you mind taking a walk with me?”

“What about?…”

“She’ll be fine. I’ll keep an eye on her,” she interrupted him, and seeing his raised eyebrows, she added cryptically, “I keep an eye on _everyone_ at all times.”

He followed her without a word. She didn’t say anything either. They walked a narrow pathway that led to an overgrown ravine.

“Why did you do it?” Morgana asked suddenly.

“Did what?” he asked curiously.

“Let us escape,” she turned to him with a probing gaze, “In the Abbey. You knew we were there. Before we ran, I looked back and saw you… looking straight at me. The morbid part of me was curious whether you would follow us so I didn’t tell Nimue,” she raised her eyebrows, “We were there, by the boat, for a while… and you never showed up. Why?”

“Who are you?” he narrowed his eyes at her.

“I used to be called Sister Igraine…”

Lancelot stumbled back as if she hit him, “You were a nun!?”

“Answer me, Asher,” she said sternly, ignoring his outburst, “You had been tasked with hunting down the very Wolf-Blood Witch you spared. Why?”

The man looked at the Widow for a while, still processing the information. A vague memory of an injured Sister talking about being attacked by the Witch, appeared in his mind. It was her!

The woman just nodded in confirmation, waiting patiently.

“I don’t know why I didn’t tell Father Carden about you,” he said finally, leaning against a smooth stone wall of the ravine. He looked up at the clear sky and sighed, “It’s just the usual whispers I hear, were so very insistent and somehow forbidding at that moment. I even thought briefly of following you anyway but _they_ screeched so loudly in my head, I got rooted to the spot with pain,” he chuckled mirthlessly, “The Hidden didn’t want me to find her and yet, I stubbornly hunted my Nimue like she was an unfeeling beast deserving the worst possible death. I hunted them all,” his voice broke at that. He pushed himself away from the rock and walked away to the opposite wall, trying to regain his usual composure.

Suddenly he felt the woman’s hand on his shoulder, “Do you think that Nimue would spare your life, even with the Hidden’s forbidding whispers in her head?”

He turned and looked at Morgana, “No. She would gut me like a fish and make sure I was awake through the entirety of the process,” he grinned, sure that if it was somehow possible to fall in love with his Witch even more, this would be the moment.

The Widow laughed and patted him on his back, “That’s right. So the next time you feel sorry for our sweet girl, remember your own words about…” she went silent suddenly and turned her head towards the ravine’s core.

At once, Lancelot’s senses sharpened as he was trying to identify a familiar, yet new, scent he was picking up.

“It looks like it’s time for you to do what the Ash King does the best – protect,” Morgana glanced at him, “Also, it is my cue to leave,” she nodded at him but before she disappeared, she smiled and rolled her eyes, “Oh! And, for your own sake, let Arthur win… just once. Or else he will never stop bothering you,” she said and was gone.

“Not a chance,” Lancelot murmured and hurried in the direction where the scent was coming from.


	20. Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Whatever-You're-Celebrating...and if you're not celebrating anything - have a lovely weekend 🤗

[ ](https://sta.sh/01uxvci65sak)

Nimue woke up with a start, not feeling the warmth of Lancelot’s arms that had been enveloping her throughout the night. She sat up and looked around but he was nowhere in sight. She saw is satchel next to hers and relaxed, lying down and smiling lazily. He had to be close.

For a while, she was gently raking the morning dew-covered grass with her fingers, remembering the wonderful moments they shared under the old beech tree… and in the lake. The sore muscles and red marks on her skin left by him were a sweet reminder of that magical time.

She burrowed her nose into his cloak and giggled like a little girl. She hadn’t felt that happy since… she couldn’t even remember.

“My Lancelot,” she whispered and sighed, basking in the memory of the love she’d seen in his eyes.

All of a sudden, the Hidden’s voices burst painfully into her mind and had her curled up in a fetal position. The screams and the screeching were unbearable. She heard eerie humming and looked for the source. Lancelot’s longsword, next to his satchel. When she reached for it, the cacophony diminished.

The runes on the Fey Sword were glowing vibrant green. Something was wrong.

Why had he left without his sword? He never left it behind!

Nimue quickly wrapped his cloak around her, grabbed their bags and his sword and closed her eyes, focusing on the whispers.

They led her mind towards a nearby ravine, through the overgrown narrow pathway, out to a large clearing surrounded by rocky cliffs. And then…

She opened her eyes. She ran.

* * *

“Leave,” Lancelot growled at the men surrounding him. They looked at each other and burst out laughing.

The Lepers. He had a limited experience of them but the one time he'd faced them in the Rugen’s lair, left him wary. They were vicious and unpredictable.

And he had only his mother’s shortsword with him.

“You better start minding your own business and run, pretty boy,” mocked one, probably the most deformed of the group of nine.

“I am…” Asher looked right into the man’s eyes, “…minding my own business,” and without warning, he flipped over the opponent, grabbed him by the neck, and plunged his blade into the man’s back.

The rest stood stunned for a few moments and then attacked Lancelot from all sides.

 _Oh, great,_ he sighed internally and began his _dance_ , hoping Nimue would show up soon.

He was surrounded by six of the men while the remaining two were guarding a young woman who had been taken hostage. He was glad he hadn’t eased his daily trainings off or else he wouldn’t last long.

But even with all his skill, they were attacking all at once, not afraid to accidentally hit each other with their weapons. He was getting nowhere, trying to avoid being hit rather than attack and end this brawl.

Just as he started losing the advantage, he heard a savage scream coming from his girl who was running at full speed towards them.

“Lancelot, catch!” she yelled and threw his Fey Sword to his.

The moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt, the blade burst into green flames and the Ash man smirked maliciously at the attackers who suddenly stopped and stared, dumbfounded.

“Now, we have even chances, don’t we?” he said and twirled his sword a few times in a threatening manner. The Lepers took a few steps back, still gaping.

“We won’t fight you, Hidden. Just let us leave,” one of the group stammered as they dropped their weapons and were slowly retreating with the hands up.

Asher noticed the Lepers were still trying to take their hostage with them. He rolled his eyes and walked towards the two chancers, with his sword pointed at them.

“Let her go. Now,” he said calmly. The two looked at each other. The young woman was pushed towards him and ended up in his arms, desperately holding onto his tunic and sobbing.

The Lepers ran away, sending him panicked glances from time to time.

Lancelot turned to the small audience he had – several women and children. They were all wearing earthy-coloured clothing. Their skin was covered with patterns of, what it looked like, ritualistic scars, though when he looked down at the girl in his arms, the texture of her skin seemed to resemble one of the surrounding rocky surfaces.

The Cliff Walkers. He’d never seen one. _Maybe because the Weeping Monk didn’t manage to get so far up North_ , the snarky thought hit him unpleasantly.

He gently steered the rescuee and let the others take care of her. Then he turned to Nimue who was patiently waiting, although judging by the sour look on her face, she was… jealous?

He smiled and reached his hand out to her. She immediately came close and grabbed it. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her temple.

“I’m yours and yours only, Nimue,” he assured her.

She sighed, “It will take me a while to stop seeing others as a threat.”

“Mm... Same here,” he leaned down and gently rested his forehead on hers, “And thank you for coming to my rescue, my Queen,” they both smiled.

“Thank you, Sire,” a voice of an old woman sounded behind him. He let go of Nimue and turned around. The elder was standing a few meters away and looking at him… like the people had been looking at him after he’d returned the Fire to Gallia. With awe.

Before he could reply, Nimue stepped forward and said, “We should move. If the scouts went that far, the rest of the Lepers will follow soon,” she frowned and looked at the elder, “Why did they want to take her?” she nodded towards the rescued woman.

The elderly woman narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, “They talked about some _ungrateful_ Witch and their King’s need for a new Queen,” she explained, “I gather that they came here for Elaine because she is our Clan Leader’s daughter. Maybe they thought they could get away with the taking Lady of Astolat since our clans have had somehow friendly relationship…until now that is…” this time her narrowed eyes were filled with contempt as she spat at her feet, mumbling something under her nose.

“Well, that was quick,” Lancelot said and exchanged a worried look with Nimue. Rugen had to know about the ploy and decided to act quickly and leave Uther’s lands before the armies marching from the south, would reach this far. He had never intended to help them in the fight against the Pope and Cumber! That coward!

 _Do Merlin and others know about it?_ Lancelot mused. They needed to find a way to deliver a message quickly. He was about to ask the elder for help when he heard a thunder of hooves hitting the ground.

He readied his sword and took a defensive stance at the front of the group, guarding them and waiting for whoever was approaching. He heard Nimue telling everyone to hide behind a nearby rocky outcrop.

Moments later, a group of ten riders appeared in the clearing. All ready to attack… but they stopped fifteen yards away.

Lancelot took his shortsword out and raised both weapons. This time no flames were engulfing the blade. It seemed his sword reacted to the state of his mind and his direct command and now, he felt calm and balanced. Ready. He didn’t need the crutches of magic.

He felt alive. He had to admit to himself he’d missed the adrenaline rush before a fight. He was taking in deep breathes to focus on the coming confrontation.

He looked into the eyes of an older man who seemed to be a leader of the group. The man, in return, looked him up and down before getting off his horse and saying, “You don’t look like one of Rugen’s lackeys, boy,” he looked around, “And sure it doesn’t look like you’re prepared for what’s about to happen to you,” he snarled at the Ash man who only now realised that the man is of the Cliff Walkers clan.

Not wanting the situation to escalate, Lancelot slowly laid his weapons on the ground and raised his hands, saying “I mean no harm.”

“But I do!” the man whipped out his glaive and attacked but before he had a chance to take a swing at the Asher, a wall of vines rose from the ground, separating the men.

 _Nimue_ , Lancelot didn’t have to look to see what the woman was doing. He smiled, picked up the swords, and placed them in the scabbards. Then, he strolled around the wall to face the man yet again.

“I take you’re the Clan Leader?” he said as friendly as possible.

“Who are you?” the man was still looking between the wall and Nimue in disbelieve.

“Depends on who you ask…” Lancelot scratched the stubble on his jaw, “…Some would call me King of Gennewis, others - the Ash King of Enchanted Forest,” he knew he was bragging but thought it would be good to get it all out there in case if the man was easily-impressed by titles, and mentioning them would buy him some favours. But then he looked at the man seriously, “But you, most likely, heard of me being called the Weeping Monk.”

“Which one are you now?” the Leader narrowed his eyes at the Ash man. He didn’t look alarmed by his Paladin name.

“Lancelot. I’m Lancelot du Lac of Ash Folk.”

“And who, Lancelot du Lac of Ash Folk, is the sorceress?” both men glanced at Nimue who was watching them closely.

“Nimue…” the King smiled at his girl, “She is the Fey Queen of Sky Folk… but in Britannia, she may be known as Wolf-Blood Witch,” he looked curiously at the man who’s eyes went wide at the mention of the Witch.

Then, something truly unexpected happened.

“You’re Rugen’s little bride he was bragging about!” he laughed joyfully, “Oh, you really pulled a number on him, didn’t you, girly?” when his anger and hostility was gone, he turned out to be a jovial fellow. Weren’t the Cliff Walker suppose to be the shiest of all Fey? Even shyer that Moon Wings? 

“I take no responsibility for his delusional fantasies,” Nimue said with a half-smile.

“Sure you don’t! That fool has been going on about bringing the mighty Boudicca for a long time now!” the Cliff Walker laughed again and then looked towards the spot his keen were hiding in, “You can come out Elaine!” he shouted at winked at the Fey Queen, then looked at the Ash man, “Lancelot du Lac, I am Bernard, the Leader of Cliff Folk and Lord of Astolat… and that’s it,” he pursed his lips amused, his eye twinkling with mirth, “I don’t have any other _impressive_ titles to my name.”

Lancelot felt his cheeks heating up as he took the man’s offered hand and shook it in greeting, “I didn’t mean to…”

“Father!” he was interrupted by the young woman running towards them and throwing herself into Bernard’s arms.

“My sweet little lily!” the man greeted her, embracing her, “Are you unharmed?”

“I’m fine… thanks to this kind Sire,” the girl blushed and looked coquettishly at Lancelot who sent a panicked glance towards Nimue… who, in return, sent him an innocent look which was a sure sign of her barely containing her amusement.

“Did you try to seduce the Lady of Astolat, Lancelot du Lac?” Bernard deadpanned.

“Yeah, have you, Lancelot du Lac?” Fey Queen chimed in, looking at him like she was about to burst out laughing. _Oh, you’ll pay for this, you little Witch_ , he looked at her threateningly to which she just smirked.

“No, Sir Bernard. I swear I didn’t,” the Asher stammered, panicking only slightly, “I would never…”

“Don’t you find me attractive, Your Highness?!” appalled Elaine exclaimed. _The sweet little lily_ seemed to be able to transform into a scary and pouting ivy momentarily.

“I…I…” he stammered but was saved by Bernard who wrapped his arm around his daughter and laughed.

“Of course he does, my sweetest. Who wouldn’t?!” he winked at Lancelot who sighed in relief, “Now, please, let me have the pleasure of hosting you to thank you for saving my precious daughter… besides, you two look like you need a good meal,” he turned and walked to his horse.

“How did you know I was…” Lancelot was confused.

“We saw you from the top of the cliff but it took us a while to get here,” the Leader said and helped Elain to mount his horse.

“Why did you attack me then?”

The man shrugged, “To check how much of the Weeping Monk is still in you, my boy.”

“And what’s the verdict?” Asher asked with a strained voice.

Bernard looked at him for a while and said, “Enough of the Monk to terrify an army but more than enough of the King to have people fighting for you willingly,” the man smiled thoughtfully and let the others know to follow the riders.

* * *

Nimue was sitting comfortably at a table, admiring the beautiful surroundings and having the best meal since they’d left Gennewis.

She couldn’t believe that such intricate architecture existed hidden amongst those mountains. And it was only an hour-trek away from where they camped last night!

The _castle_ was situated in another rocky clearing, one large enough to build the beautifully sculpted timber galleries running all around this natural courtyard. And on the galleries, there were many doors carved into the cliff. Nimue presumed that they lead deep into the mountain’s belly where the Cliff Walkers had their sleeping quarters. Running along the courtyard’s walls, was a moat-like rill which collected water that was cascading down the rocky walls.

After seeing Avalon, the Queen was sure nothing could impress her anymore. She was wrong.

“This place is truly beautiful,” Lancelot nodded with appreciation.

“I couldn’t agree more! It is simply magnificent, Sir Bernard,” Nimue agreed, still looking around.

“Sir Lancelot, would you like me to show you around?” Elaine who was seated to her father’s left, said sweetly, leaning forward and completely ignoring the other woman. Nimue raised her eyebrows. Lancelot paled. Bernard guffawed.

“My lily, let us finish the meal first and talk,” the man patted his daughter’s hand, “And then, I’m sure our _guests_ will be delighted to tour our home.”

“I meant Sir Lancelot only, father,” that insolent girl had the nerve to pout like it was her who’d just been insulted. Nimue didn’t know how to react so she glanced towards Lancelot who looked like a panicked rabbit caught in a bear trap. She whimpered with barely contained laughter.

“Don’t be rude, girl!” the older man scolded his daughter who gaped at him, stood up from the table rapidly, and marched away stiffly.

“Apologies, my Elaine is…well…a bit spoiled,” he grimaced pleadingly at Nimue.

“A bit, father?” Torre – one of two sons of Lord of Astolat, laughed, “That’s a good one!”

“Father, you spoiled her so much, it is almost impossible to stand her presence for more than few minutes at a time,” Lavaine – the younger son, also laughed.

“Well…” the great Lord blushed, “I promised her dying mother I would do anything for our baby girl… and I might have gone too far…”

Nimue smiled at the man, “You don’t have to explain yourself, Sir…”

“You’re very kind, my Lady,” Bernard nodded gratefully and then said to Lancelot, “And you, young man, have two choices. You either talk to my daughter and explain plainly the state of your feelings. Or you can endure her behaviour and hope she’ll get bored soon,” he reached behind Nimue who was sitting next to him, and patted Asher on his back sympathetically.

“Or he could join with her,” Torre suggested casually, taking a sip of cider.

Nimue stared the man down, “Or I could find her right now and explain… plainly… and painfully, why she could do none of those things,” she said quietly and looked boldly at Elaine’s stunned father and brothers.

Suddenly she heard Lancelot’s quiet laughter and looked at him blankly, “What’s so amusing, Monk?”

He just shrugged, grinning, “Nothing. I just enjoy you being so zealous about protecting my virtues, my Witch.”

“I’m just minding my business, that’s all,” she smirked at him, “But Sir Bernard is right, my love. You need to talk to the girl before she starts planning your joining feast.”

At that, the poor Monk paled again and Lavaine chuckled, “How come you faced a group of vicious Lepers and remained calm but the very thought of talking to a harmless girl terrifies you so, Sir Lancelot?

“Well… at least I didn’t have to talk to them,” Asher grumbled. Everyone laughed. He sighed, “Fine. I’ll talk to her. But then we must be on our way,” he said and got up to leave.

“Before you go, my boy…” Bernard looked curiously between Nimue and Lancelot, “In all the excitement, I’ve never asked you why you were here?”

“We are on the way to the Pendragon Castle,” the younger men explained.

“We were told to take this route as a safer one,” Nimue added.

“Safer than what?” Torre asked, frowning.

“Safer than the river valley where the Lepers are camping…” Nimue’s voice died away when she noticed the man exchanging confused look with his father and brother, “What’s wrong?”

“Nimue, my child,” Bernard took her hand in his and said, “Lepers haven’t been in this area for a long time as we’ve had an agreement they wouldn’t venture this far up north and we wouldn’t travel down south.”

“What about those from this morning?” she raised her eyebrows.

“The Lepers are camping, indeed…but around the coast. The ones you met earlier today were sent here to kidnap my sister,” Torre clenched his fists angrily.

Lancelot was as confused as Nimue was. He said, “Then, why did Merlin tell us to…”

“Merlin?” Bernard sat up straight, looked at them suspiciously, and exclaimed, “Merlin the Magician?!”

“Yes,” the Fey Queen said meekly, “Do you know him, Sir?” she asked cautiously.

“Do I?!” the older man’s fist slammed on the table, making the plates shake, “That snake was here over a month ago, asking for our support in some little campaign he was cooking up,” he chuckled darkly and continued, “He kept going on about finally finding the Fire Bearer and how the Fey had their chance to fight for their freedom,” he shook his head, “We obviously refused as we don’t do business with Shadow Lords’ minions. We had learnt our lesson after dealing with Rugen.”

Nimue and Lancelot were looking at each other, dumbfounded. After few moments, Asher simply sighed, deflected.

She chuckled and shook her head, saying, “My father couldn’t convince you of the truthfulness of his words so he had to send the very Fire Bearer he was talking about to try to get you on our side.”

“Merlin is your father?” Lavaine looked at her in shock.

“Um…yes,” she smiled apologetically.

“That cunning old dog sent you here to convince us!” Bernards seemed… impressed? “And you two, unknowingly, are just pieces in his little game!”

“It is not a game!” Nimue rose up and said angrily, “Most of my clan, most of the other clans were wiped out because we couldn’t defend ourselves from the Church’s soldiers,” her voice was trembling, she felt tears gathering in her eyes when she whispered, “This is our last chance to fight for our right to exist.”

The clan leader looked at her for a long time and said, “Do you know, my child, why the Cliff Walkers and the Plogs have survived that long?” he waited until she shook her head, “Because we avoid any contact with Humans. They cannot be trusted. And you seemed to think you could just mix with them and be accepted,” he smiled sadly at her, “That’s why you were doomed from the beginning, my poor girl.”

“You may not have a choice soon,” Lancelot said sternly when he stood up and rested his fists on the table, “The Church and the Ice King joined their forces and are marching here as we speak. That’s why we are on the way to the Pendragon Castle. To meet other clans. To meet those Humans - Gennewisians, Brits and Vikings, who pledged their allegiance to our cause. To meet the Picts. To meet Eireann Celts,” he rounded the table and started pacing in front of it, continuing passionately while people in the courtyard gathered to hear his words, “Because this is it! If we don’t fight, they’ll come for us wherever we are, may it be Avalon… or Lakelands… or Cumbrian Mountains! We have to show them we are not afraid. We have to win this battle so they don’t ever attempt to attack our Realm!” he stopped and looked heatedly at the older man but said with a cold voice, “It is my duty. As it is yours, Lord Astolat,” he finished quietly.

The stunned silence in the courtyard made Nimue, who was crying silently, look at her King.

His facial markings were glowing… green… like the very Fey Fire he was carrying within him!

“Lancelot…” Nimue tried to get to him but his mind seemed to be miles away. She walked up to him and put her hands on his cheeks, trying to bring him back from wherever he was.

Suddenly he inhaled deeply and looked towards one of the ground-level doors, pointing at it, “Something’s not right,” he said quietly. He took his sword out, now engulfed in green flames, and waited.

Within moments, they heard a loud thumping of feet coming from the rocky doorway and a group of men appeared on the gallery.

“Geraint! What’s wrong, my friend?” Bernard snapped out of the stunned shock and ran to the man holding a child in his arms.

The newcomers were squinting their eyes in the daylight, their skin was very pale, and they had taloned two-fingered hands… The Plogs.

“Rafrna got shot,” he looked pleadingly at the Cliff Walker Clan Leader, “The Red Man-Bloods shot him with arrows! We didn’t see them coming. They were sneaking around like snakes.” he sobbed and let out a blood-chilling howl.

It took a moment for Nimue to register the words. She looked at Lancelot who was _himself_ again, “The boy is still alive. We have to do something,” she whispered.

He gazed at her. He knew what she meant. If it was her attempting to heal the boy, she’d be out of it for a long while. But since the healing process didn’t seem to affect Asher’s levels of energy in any way…

He nodded in agreement and approached the men, putting his sword away and kneeling in front of them, “I may be able to help your son,” he said calmly.

“Who are you?” the grieving father looked at him in despair.

“Geraint,” Bernard put his hand on the man’s shoulder and said, looking fearfully at the Ash man, “You can trust Lancelot.”

The man thought for a moment and nodded, asking “What do you need, lad?”

“I need you to find the greenest possible spot. I need trees and shrubs…”

“I have an idea,” Geraint said and stood up, pressing his child against his body.

“You should let me carry him,” Lancelot suggested and looked at Nimue and said, “Could you gather our belongings? We won’t be coming back here. I’m afraid we’re out of time,” he turned to the Plog who carefully placed Rafrna's limp body in his arms, “Lead the way, Sir,” the King said and everybody listened.

* * *

After an hour of rushing through stuffy, dark tunnels, Lancelot was relieved to take a gulp of fresh air and feel the sun on his face.

They ended up in an overgrown orchard, protected by the mountains on three sides.

There was no time to neither admire the landscape nor try to figure out their location though.

“Nimue?” Asher looked around and saw her pushing through a sizeable crowd, including Bernard and his family, that had followed them all the way here.

He sat down in the high grass with the child in his arms and leaned against a flowering apple tree.

“What am I to do?” she knelt next to him and waited for his instructions.

“Just don’t let anyone interrupt, please,” he smiled at her and pulled her into a quick kiss before focusing on the task ahead.

He took a deep breath and reached out to the voices that had always been with him.

He pleaded with them. Nothing.

He tried to bargain. Nothing.

Finally, he calmly ordered them to come to Rafrna’s rescue…

He didn’t know how long he was meditating, touching a low-hanging leafy branch with one hand and cradling the child in his free arm, but he had enough time to recall all the Baudwin and Merlin’s teachings about the Fey healing ability.

It started as a usual tickling in his fingertips, then he felt the cool tingling sensation traveling slowly up his arms like somebody was gently dragging a leaf across his skin. And then there was only the serene feeling of being deep in a trance. After a while, he felt a rapidly rising feeling of cold heat and a bright green light exploded behind his closed eyelids.

He heard audible gasps, opened his eyes, and looked up at the fiery canopy of the tree he was resting against. The fire was gone within seconds and the tree returned to its previous, blossoming state.

Then he looked down, at the little Plog in his arms… and saw a pair of cataracted eyes, looking straight at him. The boy raised his taloned hand and gently touched his cheeks. Lancelot could feel the leafy markings slowly retreating.

He helped the confused boy sit up and nodded at his father who was by their side instantly, looking at his son in astonishment.

Geraint looked at Lancelot and said, “How will I ever repay you, Lancelot?”

The younger man shook his head, saying “There’s no need for that,” then he looked at the boy, “Except one thing,” the man poked the tiny chest gently, “You stay out of trouble. Is that clear?”

The child smiled shyly and nodded, “Yes, Sir!”

“Good,” Lancelot smiled at him, stood up, and mended his clothing. He walked to astounded Nimue and took his satchel and the cloak, thanking her with a kiss on the forehead, “Let’s go, my love.”

After few moments of trying to guess what direction they should go, his shoulders sagged as he turned to their hosts, “Actually, we would be grateful if you pushed us in the right direction to the Pendragon Castle.”

“Why there?” Geraint tiled his head, “There are only armies gathering there. I’m guessing it is to try to stop the Red Demons from the south…” he scratched his beard.

“And that’s why we need to get to the Castle as soon as possible…” Nimue took few steps towards the man, “So, please, tell us how to get there quickly.”

The Plog Leader gestured at a group of few men, hiding in the shade of one of the trees and said, “They’ll show you the way. You should reach the castle long before sunset,” he walked up to Lancelot and shook his hand, “That’s the least I can do for what you did for my Rafrna.”

Asher looked at Bernard and reached out for a handshake and said, “Thank you for your hospitality, my lord. Hope you’ll stay safe for as long as you can… But if your situation becomes dire, just send a bird and we’ll do what we can to assist you,” the men shook their hands and the Queen and the King followed the Plogs into a tunnel, concealed by overgrown shrubs.

* * *

“What were you thinking, Gawain?!” Merlin threw his arms up, pacing around the table in the Great Hall of the Pendragon Castle and shooting the man disgruntled looks.

He arrived just in time to see Gawain, Galehaut, and the Northern and Western allies approaching. Kaze and Bors were already here as the Gennewisian Army they’d been traveling with, was far better organised than all the different fractions who’d met up north. The Ash Folk and all other Fey, the Vikings, and Uther’s army were mere hours away. The Lepers were gone, which was worrying, but the sorcerer was sure that at least Rugen wouldn’t join Cumber as there was bad blood between the two kings. If anything, they’d try to use the coming battle as a distraction to steal the Sword of Power…and Nimue. Merlin shuddered at that thought.

All in all, the timing of everyone’s arrival was exceptionally synchronized. Even Nimue and Lancelot still had quite a bit of time left. He just hoped his plan would work.

For now, he needed to get some answers from the Green Knight.

He turned to the man who was preoccupied with a quiet conversation with Galehaut. He cleared his throat. No response.

He rolled his eyes and pounded his staff on the floor, “Oi! Eyes on me, lovebirds!” he raised his voice and that seemed to do the trick as both men looked at him attentively, “So, Gawain? What were you thinking?! That man cannot be trusted under any circumstances!”

“You’re exaggerating, Merlin. Mordred is my brother and wouldn’t betray me,” the Knight raised his hands defensively in an attempt to placate the sorcerer.

“But he would betray anyone else,” Merlin grumbled.

“Oh, you would know something about betraying everyone, wouldn’t you, Merlin?” a mocking voice came from the door behind him.

That voice. The magician nearly growled hearing _that_ voice. The last time he’d heard it had been some years ago, from very close proximity – right in his ear. It was accompanied by a malicious snarl on the man’s face and his hand twisting a dagger plunged into the magician’s gut.

Merlin turn to the newcomer and stared at him coldly. He could feel the fury rising in him, he felt the first crackles of lightning at his fingertips.

Gawain had to notice it too as put his hand on his shoulder and said calmly, “Please, let’s not allow our grievances to cloud the reasons why we all are here, Merlin.”

“My brother isn’t wrong,” said Mordred – a tall dark-haired man with a deceptively beautiful face and cold grey eyes. He took his sword out and placed it on the table as a token of goodwill. Then he smirked, ruining the illusion of sincerity, “I betrayed many, you betrayed many… now you chose to trust and devote yourself to a man who is a traitor to his own kind. A man who spent years hunting the Fey for… being Fey. A man…”

“A man who saved us all and who protects us,” everybody turned their heads towards Kaze, who’d been sitting quietly in the darkest corner up until now. She got up and walked up to the Scot, stopping right in his face, “Men like Lancelot live according to a code of honour and set of rules,” she snarled at the man, exposing her sharp teeth, “And men like you…” she poked him in the chest, “…live for personal and material gains. No code,” she took a step back, looked him up and down and slowly sat at the table, saying, “So if we’re done here with this little game, can we focus on making some decisions before Pendragon shows up?”

All four men obediently nodded and joined Kaze.

The Fey and the allies arrived from the coast in the early hours of the afternoon and chaos ensued.

The organisation wasn’t Merlin’s forte so he was glad to see Bors and Galehaut taking over. They knew how to control crowds.

 _An army of four thousand strong_ , Merlin smiled, looking at the fields surrounding the castle. It was heart-warming to see all the tents and people milling around. People who cared.

He joined the newly created Allied Council at an abundantly laid table in front of Uther’s tent. Why the king had a tent set up just outside the castle gates, Merlin had no clue. Maybe he wanted to feel in charge of everything or to create an illusion of being connected to the people.

 _Oh yeah, real people’s man that lad_ , the sorcerer laughed silently and sat next to Pendragon.

He looked around at the familiar and new faces, raised his tankard, saying, “To the old and new allies. To the old and new friends. May we prevail!” he took a swig of beer, everyone followed.

“Any news on Nimue and Lanc… ehm… the Monk?” Arthur asked and quickly hid his face in the tankard in reaction to few chuckles coming from those who knew _what_ he almost admitted.

“None,” Merlin frowned, “But they aren’t expected until the morning so we just need to wait,” he lightened up, determined not to get any dark thoughts to poison his good mood.

So he enjoyed the company, the beautiful sunny day… and the beer from Uther’s private brewery … until someone came running and yelling something about the ground splitting.

All the leaders, King Uther included, looked across a river towards the spot at the foot of the nearest hill where the ground was collapsing, making thunderous and terrifying sounds. In the newly-hollowed cavity, multiple entrances to underground corridors appeared.

“What is going on, Merlin?” Uther asked in a panic.

Before the magician could answer, a man and a woman appeared at the mouth of one of the tunnels and walked towards the gathered Council.

“Who are they?” asked one of the Picts.

“They, my friend, are our Fey Queen and Fire Bearer,” Merlin smiled widely, happy to see them unharmed. He turned to Arthur and said with a wink, “Looks like Nimue and _the Monk_ won’t make us wait any longer.”

“What about them?” Arthur pointed behind the sorcerer who turned around and was left agape.

Behind his daughter and the Ash man, the Plogs and the Cliff Walkers were emerging from the tunnels in astonishing numbers.

“I can’t believe he actually did it,” Merlin whispered, mesmerised by the view.

“What did he do?” Bors asked, also staring in disbelief.

The older man chuckled, saying, “Saved us all again, my boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware that Cumbrian Mountains (The Calf / Cautley Spout area) and Lake District (Windermere) are not as rocky as presented by me...but I needed a bit of "rockiness" 😅 So yeah... just letting you know I'm not completely ignorant of British geography/geology 😉


	21. The Gathering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy and HEALTHY New Year, everyone! 🤗💖🤞

##  [ ](https://sta.sh/0we8jcxys3z)

“This is madness!” Nimue scream-whispered to Lancelot as they walked toward a stone brodge to meet the Council waiting on the other side of the river. There were so many people gathered along the banks, watching them!

“Pretty unsettling alright,” her poor Monk looked like he wanted to put his hood up and run back to the tunnel.

She smiled at him and took his hand, lacing her fingers through his, “Don’t even think about it, Your Highness,” she laughed and nudged him to look at her, “They all are here because of you. And you’re to lead them… not hide in the Plogs’ dark tunnels.”

“Can’t you take over? You’re the Queen after all,” he eyed her reaction and bit on his lip. Nimue wasn’t entirely convinced he was joking.

“I _will_ be the Queen of the Realm _soon_ but you _are_ the Fey Protector _now_. Besides I can’t fight for shit,” she grimaced.

“You’re selling yourself short, my love,” the Monk said casually, “You may not know how to fight, which we need to rectify as soon as we’re back home, but you definitely know how to win a fight,” he smirked at her and looked at Merlin walking towards them.

“So good to see you, children!” the sorcerer, who met them by the bridge, seemed almost giddy… or drunk? Nimue didn’t care. She’d just heard her Asher calling Gennewis their home! Her heart nearly exploded with joy. Happy, she threw herself into her father’s arms and laughed when he spun them around.

“I’m good for twirling, thanks,” Lancelot raised his hands defensively when saw Merlin going for a hug.

The older man laughed and embraced him anyway, “Damn, boy. I knew you could achieve way more than anyone else…” he looked into the Ash man’s eyes and smacked him on the back, “…but I didn’t know you could do virtually _anything_ ,” he pointed with his head in the direction of slowly approaching Bernard and his sons. Geraint was to join them soon. He and his people walked along the shaded bank of the river as the sun was still up above the mountains.

The magician wrapped his arms around Nimue and Lancelot’s shoulders and steered them towards the waiting group.

The girl looked back at the men following them and said, “We should probably wait for…”

“No need!” Merlin interrupted her and sent her a forced smile, “Let’s introduce you first to…”

“Merlin, you sly bastard!” Bernard exclaimed angrily behind them. The queen looked at her father and nearly guffawed, seeing his face turning a bright red, not from wine for once. “Stop running away or I swear I’ll find Balor meself, rip his eye out, and shove it up your bony arse!”

The first person to lose it was Uther Pendragon. He doubled over with laughter and soon was wheezing, trying to catch a breath. Like in a chain reaction, others joined the King. The only people not laughing were Bernard, Merlin… and Lancelot.

 _My sweet somber boy_ , Nimue thought tenderly between waves of giggles.

“Oh dear,” Uther said when he calmed down, “We’ve never thought we would live long enough to see Merlin running out of words,” he shook his head and mended his crown.

After that, everyone got officially introduced. Bernard was kept away from Merlin, for both men’s sake.

Nimue caught the Scotsman - Mordred, observing Lancelot… like he was assessing something. She found out he was Gawain’s step-brother which came as a great surprise to her as he had never been mentioned before. She didn’t like the man for unexplainable reasons but since her dear friend trusted him, she decided she would too.

She looked at the Ash King to gauge his reaction to Mordred but he wasn’t paying attention to anyone as he was busy looking around the camp, searching for something. 

She didn’t get a chance to ask him because Red Spear’s voice rose above others, “Am I the only one interested in finding out why we got close to witnessing _stuffing_ of the _Great_ Merlin?”

All heads turned towards the Cliff Walker. Even Geraint, who finally arrived, looked curiously at his friend.

“You, young lady, may be the first Human I may tolerate, maybe even like,” Bernard said with a wink and Red Spear winked back with a smile. Then his face changed and he stared coldly at Merlin who was looking intently at the ground.

The Walkers’ Leader went over the events in detail and finished, saying, “He sent this young man…” he gestured towards Lancelot who was standing with his back to everyone, still looking around, “…to do what his crusty old self hadn’t been able to. Lancelot didn’t even know he was a part of the plan. Not even Merlin’s lovely daughter knew!” he looked at Nimue who smiled at him sympathetically.

“Couldn’t you just refuse again?” one of Uther’s advisers asked, confused. His question was met with laughter which, confused him even more.

“Yeah, sure,” Arthur narrowed his eyes, “If you saw him cutting through a dozen of Trinity Guards like they were made of straw, you wouldn’t be asking this question… Sire.” The adviser paled. Mordred looked impressed. Bernard whistled.

“You didn’t know?” Arthur asked the Walkers’ Leader.

“Nothing besides that the Weeping Monk was a skilled warrior.”

“Then I suppose, I must second that man’s question,” the Brit blinked a few times in confusion.

“Look,” Bernard looked like he wanted to be done with this conversation, “Merlin failed so he sent Lancelot du Lac – the Fire Bearer… And who am I to refuse the Hidden’s call to arms!?” he threw his arms up dramatically, “So that’s why I and Geraint, and our people are here…”

“What are you talking about, Ber?” the Plog Leader laughed and punched his friend’s shoulder, “I’m here because Lancelot brought my son back to life… not because you let that old weasel trick you.”

At that, in stunned silence, everyone looked at the oblivious Ash man, just in time to see him turning back to them.

“Kaze, do you know where Goliath…” the words died away on his lips when he noticed everyone’s staring at him. He frowned and said cautiously, “I guess I missed something…” he looked enquiringly at Nimue.

She knew he wouldn’t want to discuss his Fey _abilities_ so she came standing next to him and looked at Kaze, pleading, “Could you?...”

“Ah, yes, of course,” the Bexare snapped out of shock immediately, “I knew you’d be looking for Goliath as soon as you arrive, Lancelot,” she approached them, patted her Ash friend’s back, and then gave someone a sign.

What happened next, was probably the most heart-warming thing Nimue had seen in her life.

The moment a Viking rounded the castle’s corner, leading Asher’s horse, Lancelot’s face brightened up. He laughed so joyfully, he Nimue thought of a little boy he had been once.

Then, he clicked his tongue a couple of times, and called out, “Goliath!”

At once, the animal’s ears perked up as he turned his head towards his dearest companion. He freed himself from his handler with one decisive pull that made the man drop the reins, and trotted towards the Monk, whinnying.

Goliath was with the man within moments, nuzzling him and huffing air into his hair. He rested his head on Asher’s shoulder who wrapped his arms around the horse’s neck and brushed his sides lovingly. They just stood, enjoying the reunion. The man was whispering something to Goliath. The horse, in return, was making soft sounds. Like they were having a conversation!

Eventually, Lancelot let go of the horse and patted his jaw before rejoining the Council. The animal followed him closely.

Somewhat relaxed, Asher said in a solemn tone of voice, “I would like to thank each and every one of you for being part of our quest for freedom. Especially King Uther,” he bowed his head at the man who looked like he reveled in being an object of gratitude, “Thank you for standing with us and inviting us to camp on your lands, Your Highness.” The King bowed his head graciously in response. Nimue was impressed with the natural diplomatic talents of the once broody and silent Monk.

Goliath butted Lancelot’s head gently. The man laughed and let his hand pet the horse’s jaw while he continued, “I’m not one for flowery speeches… or speaking in general, for that matter,” he seemed surprised to hear some chuckling in reaction to his attempt at joking. _Or is he even aware he's just said something funny?_ Nimue wondered.

“So I’ll leave it to those who know how to enchant with words,” he looked at Arthur and nodded, “Now, we need to send a bird to Wicklow and Cumber to set up a meeting. Who knows, maybe we could come to some agreement,” few doubting murmurs were heard but he raised his hand, “I know, you came here to fight,” he looked at the snickering Drust, the Tusk, “But preserving life is more important than the need for enemy’s blood… I learnt that lesson the hard way.”

Nimue took his hand and squeezed encouragingly. He took a deep breath and continued, “Let’s discuss our plans tonight and have a good night's rest, and hopefully, we will get the reply from the South by morning.”

Goliath butted him again. Nimue laughed at that, “He really must’ve missed you.”

Lancelot smiled, “He’s just getting impatient. I better take him for a ride,” he looked at her, kissing her hand in a courtly manner, “Would you mind talking to Red Spear about…”

“I’ll take care of everything,” she gently patted his chest, "Now go, before it gets dark". 

Soon, she watched the man and his beast, galloping away from everyone and everything.

* * *

Lancelot devoted the remainder of the afternoon to Goliath. Oh, how he missed his friend! Now, he could finally feel at peace, knowing his hooved companion had been treated well.

When he came back, he spent the rest of the evening exchanging news and strategies with the Council as well as pleasantries with King Uther and his people.

He also had a private talk with the King as some ideas had been rattling around his mind for a while now. He couldn’t possibly know the outcome of the coming battle so taking care of all necessary formalities now was for the best.

It was dark when tired but content Lancelot climbed the castle tower steps. He saw all the people camping on the grounds surrounding the castle, and only now he fully realised how real things were about to get.

“Didn’t expect all that, did you?” Arthur’s voice took him by surprise. He did not expect the Brit to come looking for him so soon.

Lancelot snorted, “Yeah, you can say that,” he pushed off from the wall he was leaning against and side-eyed Arthur, “Although you being here should definitely be considered more unexpected.” But it wasn’t.

The man shrugged, “It had to happen eventually... although there isn’t that much to say.”

“Yeah,” Asher agreed.

“This has been coming ever since I saw you arrive at the North Beach… since I saw Nimue’s face, the way she was looking at you... while you were so closed off,” Arthur chuckled, “Oh, how I wanted to punch that stoic expression off your face!”

“You tried,” Lancelot smirked.

“I did indeed,” the Brit grimaced, then frowned and asked, “By the way, how do you do that?”

“Do what?” the Ash man blinked, thinking that maybe he’d missed a part of the conversation.

“How are you always so calm and composed?”

“Oh, that,” the man shrugged, “I taught myself that.”

“Why?” Arthur was visibly confused.

“Under Father Carden, I learnt pretty quickly that emotions could be used against me. So I taught myself how to momentarily shut down,” Lancelot explained casually.

“Has it always worked?”

“Yes, it has… expect when I was exposed to long periods of pain… then I would break,” Asher finished with a shaky voice and closed his eyes, trying to prevent the unwanted memories from resurfacing. Arthur seemed to understand and didn’t ask any further questions, just nodded slowly and looked into the distance.

For w while, they watched the festivities happening below in a friendly silence.

Finally, the Ash man said, “I’m sorry for all I’ve done to you, Arthur. Truly,” he paused for a moment and continued, “I know you probably won’t believe me but I think of you as a good and just man… And this world could use more of those,” he straightened up at looked at the man seriously, “Therefore I’d like to ask you to lead our army.”

Gaping Arthur stared at him for a few moments before saying, “Why me? There are plenty more qualified people down there,” he gestured at the camp below.

“Maybe,” Lancelot agreed, “But only you have the right combination of qualities.”

“Like what?”

“You are Human. I trust you completely. And I know you will act in Fey’s best interest in mind,” Asher said, “Also, you proved yourself as a competent leader on and outside the battlefield.” He finished with a respectful bow towards the Brit.

“W-why… Why are you being so generous to me?” the man stammered in astonishment, “Why not ask King Uther. He surely can be trusted _and_ has experience. He has the biggest army of us all after all.”

Lancelot tsked, “Uther Pendragon does what every Human king does – he cares about his own and if annihilating us served his plans better, he would do it without hesitation,” he looked to the dark mountain peaks in a distance, “You, on the other hand, are loyal to the cause and this loyalty will lead you to greatness one day.”

He looked down towards the gate beneath and nodded to a guard, then turned and walked to the stairs to go back down, “That’s why I talked to King Uther and explained everything in the most diplomatic way I could…”

“Ha! How many dead are we talking about?” Arthur grinned. Lancelot burst out laughing.

The Ash King didn’t say anything until they arrived at the Great Hall’s door.

“Apparently there are some rules about who can be in charge of the military,” Asher said out of nowhere.

Arthur frowned, “Of course there are. Only Knights and noblemen can lead armies and…”

“Well, then we need to make you a Knight,” Lancelot interrupted and then pointed his finger up, remembering, “Oh, and additionally, I may even make your sister’s request come true and let you win a fight…one day,” he smiled at the man.

“Morgana? When did you talk to her?” Arthur asked skeptically, clearly not quite believing the Ash man.

“This morning. She told me you won’t leave me alone unless you win… so…”

“Do you want me to leave you alone, Monk?”

“As a pain in the arse – yes,” said _Monk_ agreed, “As a friend and an ally – no,” the King looked at the man seriously and reach out for a handshake, hoping he hadn’t miscalculated and Arthur also wanted to make peace with him.

“You got yourself a deal… Lancelot,” the Brit said seriously and shook the offered hand, “And I’d be honoured to lead our army,” he finished solemnly and bowed his head.

Asher pushed open the heavy door, entered the Great Hall, and stepped aside, letting Arthur go ahead. The man walking by his side stopped in his tracks, looking at the scene in front of him.

In the centre of the dais, Uther Pendragon was sitting on the throne, looking very content with himself.

To his left were standing Nimue and the Fey Clans’ Leaders.

There was an empty spot designated for Lancelot to Uther’s right and past it, Red Spear, Galehaut, the Pictish and Eireann Leaders, and Mordred were waiting.

Merlin, Gawain, Kaze and Bors were standing by a long table nearby.

“What is going on?” Arthur whispered to Lancelot but still looking ahead.

“I did tell you we need to make you a Knight, didn’t I?” Asher said seriously and walked towards the dais to take his spot at Uther’s side.

“Step forward, Arthur, soldier of Britannia, keen of Sir Ector of Gramaire, brother to Fey,” King Uther said pompously.

Lancelot had to clear his throat to make Arthur snap out of the full-blown shock. The man walked slowly towards Uther, looking at the surrounding faces. The usual cockiness was gone, replaced with subdued astonishment.

As he reached the foot of the dais, Bors stepped forward and handed Pendragon a sword which Lancelot had had specially made for the Brit as he knew this moment would come. He also knew it would have to be done on Britannia’s land.

“Kneel and take an oath,” Uther ordered.

Arthur obeyed.

* * *

“Done,” Merlin announced, joining the group sitting around the fire. He had just said his _goodnights_ with Uther and his advisers, after sending a message to Abbott Wicklow, asking to meet in two days.

The little camp was set it up on the riverbank, under the tree canopy as Lancelot decided to sleep outdoors to be close to his horse, rather than stay in the castle, as per Uther’s invitation. _That boy and his horse_ , Merlin smiled and shook his head.

Now, the Ash man was fast asleep, cradling Nimue in his arms, both resting against the animal’s back. _So much for the evening of camaraderie_ , the sorcerer sighed and sat down next to Arthur… _Sir_ Arthur from now on.

“So…what do we think about Lancelot’s new plan?” Merlin asked curiously.

“It’s barking mad,” Arthur said. Kaze nodded in agreement.

“It’s deranged,” Mordred said. Galehaut raised his tankard to that.

“It’s completely crazy,” Gawain said. Bors seconded it.

“It’s as insane as King Shuibhne!” Bernard exclaimed enthusiastically. Red Spear guffawed and raised the toast to that.

After few moments of silence and looking around each other, the sorcerer asked cautiously, “So… do we like it?”

“Oh yeah,” both Arthur and Kaze raised their eyebrows, surprised that could even be questioned.

“Of course we do!” Mordred and Galehaut laughed and drank to that.

“Definitely loving it,” Gawain chuckled and Bors nodded, taking a swig of beer.

“What a man that Ash boy is!” Bernard smacked his knee in joy, “I _almost_ regret Nimue and he are… you know… a _thing_ ,” he said _almost_ wistfully.

“Why? Would _you_ like to have _a_ _thing_ with him instead?” Red Spear snickered. Everybody laughed at that.

“No… but my daughter would,” the man wiggled his eyebrows and giggled, then told them about _his lily_ and Asher’s encounter.

“Oh, I can’t wait to taunt him and see that handsome mug of his all red and embarrassed,” Arthur rubbed his hands, laughing maniacally.

“I’m in!” Red Spear grinned and rested her head on his shoulder when he wrapped his arm around her back.

“Poor Lancelot has no clue what’s coming for him,” Gawain shook his head, “Not that long ago he was asking me for advice, terrified of Nimue… Now, he, unknowingly, seemed to be an expert in attracting attention from all sides,” he cackled, joined by others.

“Good man, that Lancelot du Lac,” Mordred said thoughtfully, “I didn’t know what to expect from the infamous Weeping Monk… but that wasn’t it, that’s for sure.”

Kaze nodded slowly, “When I first encountered him, he was a bloodied mess, barely alive… yet he still managed to make me fear him… But then I heard his story… and I saw the way he was around his younger brother and little Squirrel… And all I could feel was compassion. Since then, he has become one of my most trusted friends,” she smiled, looking at the fire, “So I have to agree with you, Scotsman, I also hadn’t expected what I found.”

Kaze’s words had to be overheard as Geraint, other Plogs, Bernard’s sons, and many Humans joined them, demanding to hear the story of the Ash King and Fey Queen.

And so the stories spread like wildfire throughout the camp. Stories that would become legends. Stories that already were legends.

The next day, most of the Allied Army left the Pendragon Castle grounds and marched east and south, towards the Ure Abbey where the enemy’s armies were stationed.

Merlin thought of Lancelot’s new plan to be insane enough to work. Asher’s thinking behind this was that Church had always been arrogant but now, with the support of Ice King, they surely thought they were invincible. So they wouldn’t expect the Allied Army to come at them from all sides, convinced that they would hunker down at the Pendragon Castle and wait for Church’s attack.

The proof of that was in the fact that the Paladin scouts hadn’t shown up anywhere near the castle since Kaze and Bors had arrived, which meant that the enemy didn’t know the Picts, the Celts, the Scots, the Cliff Walkers, the Plogs.

It was decided that regardless of the reply from Wicklow, they would make their move as Red Spear was convinced that Cumber would be eager to bring their forces to the meeting, ready to strike… which would leave the Red Paladins and Trinity Guard exposed in their camp.

King Uther’s army was divided into two factions. Uther-led soldiers were to approach the Abbey from the south-east.

The faction led by Arthur joined the Clif Walkers, the Plogs, and other allies. They went towards the moors of York mountains, west of the Abbey. Arthur was to continue marching through the mountains and arrive from the south, while the Fey and the allies would use the existing Plogs’ tunnels that lead close to the dungeons under the complex. From there, they would bore right into the Abbey's underground.

Nobody was to attack until Merlin’s lightning lit up the sky.

The rest of the Fey, the Gennewisians, and the Vikings would stay behind and march towards the Aysgarth Falls where the meeting with Wicklow was to take place.

That was the plan… until the messenger bird hadn’t arrived by late afternoon. It became clear then that the opposite side had no interest in the talks.

* * *

“We leave now and we don’t stop until we reach the Falls,” Nimue could see how dejected but not surprised by the turn of events Lancelot was when he said that. He had hoped to avoid the armed confrontation and now it looked like that was the only option left.

Their battalion of several hundred moved through the moonlit landscapes, following the rivers that led them to the Falls.

Nimue didn’t leave Asher’s side even for a moment. She wanted him to know she supported him in any way she could.

He was very quiet. Everyone was. Only the sounds of hooves hitting the ground and clanking of armour and weapons were disturbing the otherwise eerily silent lands.

They arrived at the beautiful spot just before dawn. The long procession of warriors stopped along the riverbank protected by trees of the forest. Nobody even thought of starting a fire or setting up a camp. Everyone simply sat down on the ground to rest, knowing that they had only several hours before they had to be on the move again.

Nimue curled up against Lancelot’s warm body and tried to get some sleep. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, spooning her, and hid his face in her neck.

They didn’t say a word. They didn’t need to. They both were silently dreading the inevitable battle. They both were hoping it wasn’t the last time they were in each other’s arms.

She turned to face him and for a long time, they were gazing at each other in the twilight. She gently stroked his cheeks while trying to convey with her eyes all the love she had for him. He seemed to get it as his eyes filled with tears and he kissed her sweetly, not leaving an inch of her face untouched by his lips.

“Born in the dawn,” he whispered, placing the final kiss on her forehead.

“To pass in the twilight,” she whispered back and let the tears flow freely as they interlaced their fingers and held their hands until they fell asleep.

Nimue woke up with a start, surrounded by a vague feeling of urgency. She sat up immediately and looked towards a nearby stone bridge.

“Morgana…” she whispered. Her heart skipped a beat and filled with dread and terror, instead of the usual joy.

 _I’m so sorry,_ the Widow’s sad voice sounded in Nimue’s mind, a moment before a rain of arrows descended upon the sleeping warriors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehem... I do realise horses don't get attached to humans like dogs do... But I wanted Lancelot to have a friend that would be his friend only.  
> So, apologies if I insulted any horse-folk (as in "people who love and know horses", not Centaurs 😳)


	22. The Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Our babies are getting intimate in this chapter.
> 
> Also, this chapter has two additional images within: one after the scene at the stream and some map at the end.

[ ](https://sta.sh/0152fraadt6y)

“WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!” Nimue scrambled off the ground, yelling and within moments, people were up and running for cover behind the trees.

Some never even got the chance to wake up before they were killed. Some lost their lives trying to run.

“Can anyone see who’s attacking us?” Nimue heard Gawain’s shocked voice nearby.

Galehaut shouted to his soldiers, “Guards up, everyone!” and then he said to Gawain, “All I saw was the glimpse of black robes and gold faces.”

“Trinity Guard,” Lancelot said coldly, then frowned, “But how is it possible?”

Nimue was also confused. Even if Wicklow had planned the ambush, which wasn’t unexpected, he couldn’t possibly know about them leaving almost two days earlier to beat Church to it. Unless…

“We were betrayed,” paled Asher said quietly, his voice breaking.

“By whom?” Red Spear asked in astonishment when she made her way to them just in time to hear it.

Lancelot just shook his head, “The entire operation may be compromised now and we have no means of letting others know,” he looked at the ground in disbelief.

“Not all is lost yet, son,” Merlin appeared from behind an old beech tree, “Let me see what I can do,” he said and vanished momentarily.

“We’ll need to go deeper into the forest, follow the river, and hope we’ll find a safe crossing point elsewhere,” Lancelot said quietly, not looking at anyone, “But for now, we wait for Merlin to come back with some news. If he’s not back by noon, we leave.”

After quietly spreading the news throughout the ranks and checking up on each other, everyone stayed put, waiting for the enemy’s next move as they knew they couldn’t do much damage with the few archers they had with them. Their battalion consisted mainly of trained in hand-to-hand combat fighters and since there was only one narrow bridge, they couldn’t attack directly.

Nimue found it odd that the Trinity Guards didn’t attack again. That had to be either a scare tactic or there was something else going on.

With every passing minute, an aura of cold fury was growing around the Ash King. It was disturbing enough to stop anyone, even Nimue, from talking to him. So nobody protested the long period of inactivity. Nobody suggested any other solution. Nobody dared.

Everybody just waited quietly for Merlin, for the enemy, for anything.

After what seemed like hours, Nimue looked to Gawain for advice but he was oddly withdrawn and avoided looking at her. She frowned deeply and turned to Lancelot.

“Nimue, don’t!” Gawain quietly warned her.

“Why?” she whispered, “He needs me at his side,” she looked fearfully at her lover.

She didn’t know what it was, but there was some terrifying energy swirling around Lancelot. He looked like he was barely containing his rage, like a mere word directed at him would crumble the thin walls of self-restraint and make him unleash whatever was boiling inside him.

“It’s not the right time, Nimue,” Red Spear said seriously, glancing cautiously at the Ash man. She wanted to add something but suddenly, Merlin appeared.

Lancelot did not react in any way. He continued to stare at the ground.

The sorcerer glanced curiously at the younger man, “What’s up with…”

Red Spear only shook her head in warning. Merlin frowned and looked carefully at Asher.

“Any news?” Galehaut asked.

“Yes,” the magician nodded, “I met with Uther and Arthur. They’ll be in their positions by the evening. The scouts were sent out but there is no sign of an ambush or Cumber and Wicklow knowing about our plans. I couldn’t go to Bernard, Geraint, and Mordred as Arthur said they were in the tunnels already and should reach the dungeons tomorrow morning,” he stroked his chin in thought, “It looks like whatever _this_ is, is aimed only at us, _here_.”

“Any ideas who the traitor is?” Lancelot’s dangerously low voice startled everyone.

“No,” Merlin said quietly, “But the good news is I managed to have a quick peek to check the numbers and is there are only three dozens of Trinity Guard on the other side of the river. And no backup,” he smirked, “Their cockiness will be their doom.”

“Merlin, we cannot reach the other side,” Kaze reminded him.

“We can’t, but there will be help coming from the mountains. We'll get the bastards from behind.” the sorcerer smiled contently.

Kaze raised her brows at that, “Help? When will…”

“Quiet!” Lancelot whispered, looking intently at the thicket of the forest.

Moments later, he crept towards whatever he'd heard or seen. Gawain, Kaze, and Red Spear followed him silently.

After several tense minutes, Kaze came back running, not minding the archers on the opposite bank.

“Lepers!” she shouted and hurried back. Everyone followed her and ran as fast as possible, dodging the enemy’s arrows.

Nimue looked to Merlin. He just sent her a worried look before running after the rest.

A couple of hundreds of yards away, the river valley forest ended and Nimue could see hundreds of Lepers atop a hill, waiting for them.

She looked back, expecting the Trinity Guards to run after them but luckily, there was no sign of the Church’s soldiers. So she followed her father and hid behind a maple tree on the edge of the green field.

Nimue had never seen a battle of this scale before.

The Lepers seemed to be using their advantage of having the high ground but there was no tactic to their attack. They just ran at full speed, swinging their weapons at the well-trained soldiers.

The Gennewisians, led by Galehaut and Bors, and the Vikings led by Red Spear, were flanking the field and funneling the enemy towards the centre.

The Fey, led by Gawain and Kaze were securing their rears, finishing anyone who managed to get through.

And in the very centre of it, was Lancelot. A lone figure, slowly getting surrounded from all sides by the attackers.

He was standing with his legs spread wide, his body lightly leaning forward, his head lowered like a predator getting ready to pounce on his victim. Both blades were out in his hands, ready to strike - the Fey Sword ablaze, the green crown above his head – brighter than ever.

He was waiting for the right moment.

And when that moment came, the slaughter began.

There was no usual grace and finesse to his movements. He wasn’t Lancelot. He wasn’t the Weeping Monk. He was something terrifying. He was a demon in frenzy. He was…

“Berserker,” Merlin whispered, watching the horrifying spectacle with his mouth open.

Nimue didn’t know what that meant. All she knew was that she had to get close to Lancelot. So she left her father behind and ran to a solitary old oak growing mere fifteen yards from where Lancelot was fighting. She managed to avoid any contact with the enemy who seemed to be too focused on the Ash King to pay her any attention. She climbed and hid between the large, twisted branches and readied herself in case her help was needed.

But it looked like Asher was in full control of the battle.

She couldn’t believe her eyes. She struggled to marry the image of the gentle, loving man with this… possessed beast.

She also couldn’t believe she found it weirdly fascinating… and arousing.

Her breathing sped up as she watched her lover cutting through anyone and anything standing in his way.

She could feel deep inside every howl and every roar coming out of his mouth.

She clenched her thighs when he snarled and twirled his weapons viciously at his opponents.

And finally, when all was done and the ground was littered with dead bodies, and he, heaving and covered in blood and sweat, turned and looked directly at her with his wild eyes, she let out a small whimper and sighed blissfully.

* * *

The moment Lancelot looked into Nimue’s wide, dark eyes, he knew what was going on with her. Her face had the same contorted expression as when he had her writhing underneath him mere days ago.

That was… unexpected to say the least.

That also was exhilarating to know she found him _titillating_ , even in the state he was in now.

So he grinned at her. She blushed, knowing now that he knew, and then smiled shyly back at him. Oh, he needed to find them some secluded spot to explore what else made his Witch so _inflamed_.

Asher didn’t know what had happened to get him into that wild state. It was like he wasn’t even in his own body. Something took over and wouldn’t let go until he worked through the frenzy. He didn’t like it. He was a man of control and losing it so completely, unsettled him.

So he was glad it was passing now as he felt his heart slowing down, the red mist of madness dispersing, and the awareness of his surroundings coming back.

He looked towards the top of the hill and saw him. Rugen. The coward who didn’t even fight his own battles. Now, the Leper King and what was left of his rabble of fighters were retreating hurriedly and soon disappeared behind the crest of the hill.

Lancelot was sure he would never see Rugen again. _Good_.

Ignoring all the dead, his own bloodied state, and the hundreds of pairs of eyes tracking his every move, he walked to the tree and helped his girl to get down.

They looked into each other’s eyes for a while and then Nimue wiped his blood-covered lips with a sleeve of her tunic, and kissed him deeply.

“We’re not done here yet,” he purred into her mouth, opening his eyes and looking at her intensely, “But once we are, there isn’t a place you’ll be able to hide from me, Witch,” he gently trapped her lower lip between his teeth and smiled. Her eyes went wide and dark again.

He stepped back, chuckled darkly at her reaction, and took her hand, leading them towards the forest.

* * *

Looking around, Merlin was relieved he wasn’t the only one not understanding what was going on with his daughter and the Ash man. So when he was joined by others, they all just stood in the middle of the field, astonished, and watched the couple casually walking away.

“Let’s go,” he said eventually and followed Lancelot.

“What about the dead?” Gawain asked, joining him.

“How many are there?” Kaze said.

“Approximately twenty of ours, mainly those killed by the river,” Galehaut said quietly and then waved towards the corpses of the Lepers, “And all these here.”

“We’ll come back for them later and lay them to rest,” Lancelot turned around and looked at all the people gathered, “We cannot do it now if we don’t want those at the Abbey to notice our presence in the area,” he was quiet for a moment, “Let’s just get our fallen warriors and bring them to the river. The Lepers will have to wait,” the young man didn’t look comfortable talking about the several dozens of lives he had just destroyed.

Merlin walked up to him and put his hand on his arm, “Lancelot, whatever was happening with you, it saved our lives,” he assured him, “We did lose twenty of our brave fighters… but without you, we’d lose so many more,” the sorcerer patted the man on the back and smiled, “Moreover, I’m sure that the Berserker you unleashed here would make even the Weeping Monk shit his pants and run for the hills,” his attempt at joking was met with solemn nods of agreement rather than laughter.

“He’s right, Lance. We all here are grateful… and in awe,” Galehaut said, bowing his head in respect for his king.

Right at that moment, a high-pitched whistling and humming noise made them look up at the quickly darkening sky as grey clouds were quickly eclipsing the sun.

“That’s our cue to move,“ Merlin announced and hurried back towards the forest.

“Our cue?” Bors asked.

“Yes, young man. There’s help on the way, like I said,” the sorcerer said impatiently without stopping, “So let’s go and deal with the gold-faced freaks!”

At that, they ran to the river. They got under the canopy of trees moments before torrential rain and thick white fog covered the river and its southern bank where the Guards were stationed.

They hunkered down behind the trees growing along the water edge, and waited.

Not long after, the first screams were heard. Whose screams, Merlin wasn’t sure. But he also wasn’t inclined to investigate.

“What’s going on there?” Lancelot said asked no one in particular.

“The Storm Crafters, my boy,” Merlin said casually.

“Who?” Red Spear was confused. So was every Human present.

“They summon rain and storm, and they attack under the cover of fog before enemy even knows what’s happening,” Gawain said, “At least that’s what’s we all have heard in the stories. They are very rare and very magical… so most of us don’t ever get to see them,” he seemed cautiously excited at the prospect of meeting the mysterious Fey clan.

“How did you get them to help us, father?” Nimue sounded astounded.

“I didn’t do anything, believe it or not,” the sorcerer said, smiling. He was as stunned as everyone else, “They came to me when I was getting ready to leave Arthur’s camp.”

“They came? To you? Just like that?” Kaze didn’t quite believe him.

“I was as surprised as you are,” he raised his hands innocently, “The Plogs, apparently, had spread the word about Fire Bearer, and the Storm Crafters wanted in,” he looked at dumbfounded Lancelot, “Looks like you’re getting some impressive following, son,” Merlin winked at the Ash man who scoffed at that and turned away, blushing.

When the screams and sounds of fighting finally stopped, they carefully left their cover and watched the fog evaporating rapidly.

Across the river, there was a middle-aged man in simple black robes, leaning on a staff. Every visible fragment of his skin was covered in tattoos, and his very long white hair was intricately braided. Soon, he was joined by few dozen other Storm Crafters, all with similar tattoos and braids.

“You can come out now,” he said with a raised voice so they could hear him over the cascading water, “There’s only one who managed to get away. But we’ll get them soon,” he assured the astonished audience, which had to be prompted by Lancelot’s command to move.

Asher entered the water to wash the blood off his skin and clothes while others took care of the bodies of their fallen, respectfully placing them along the shore. Nimue, with help of the Hidden, gently wrapped each body with her Fey Vines and hoisted the cocoons up onto tree branches, out of reach of wild animals.

Throughout all that, the Storm Fey was fixated on the young King. He didn’t even blink seeing Merlin’s daughter using her magic. His eyes didn’t leave Asher for a moment when they finally got through the narrow bridge to meet their new allies.

“Thank you for coming to our rescue,” Lancelot said to the older Fey and bowed his head with gratitude.

The Leader didn’t say anything for a long while, just looked critically at the young man. Eventually, he said with a nod, “We are truly honoured to have Fire Bearer visiting these lands. And we vow to do whatever the Hidden requires of us.”

“Please call me Lancelot,” Asher reached out for a handshake.

The man shook it without hesitation, “I’m Mabuz,” he said and looked at Galehaut and Bors, “It’s good to see my countrymen after such a long time.”

“Countrymen?” Bors stepped forward and also shook Mabuz’s hand. Intrigued Galehuat followed.

“Gallia,” the man said simply and turned to look at his warriors approaching with the missing Trinity Guard tied and dragged behind a horse, “But this story will have to wait,” he finished and walked towards their prisoner.

Merlin, Lancelot and Nimue followed. Mabuz ripped the golden mask off unceremoniously.

“YOU!” the sorcerer exclaimed, feeling anger taking over momentarily.

“Iris,” paled Nimue whispered in disbelief.

Seeing the young and scarred face of the nun wasn’t something Merlin expected. But the feeling of overwhelming hate towards the girl, definitely was. The girl that had dared shot arrows at his daughter! The girl who had almost killed the Fey Queen!

He walked up to the vile nun, now kneeling. He gave her a moment to recognise him… and when she did, he felt malicious satisfaction at seeing her eyes clouding with terror. _Good_ , he thought mercilessly, looking into her eyes with a cruel smile.

“Who is she?” he heard Lancelot behind him.

Merlin casually took his dagger out and, unceremoniously, plunged it into Iris’s heart.

“No one,” he said coldly, letting the nun’s body slump onto the muddy ground, watching the life draining out of her in rivulets of blood. He wiped his blade on the wretch’s robes and strolled away without a word.

* * *

Nimue stared at the body at her feet. She should feel something – anything! But all there was, was numbness and cold indifference to what had just happened.

The Queen didn’t pity the dead girl. But she hadn’t expected to meet Iris ever again so this encounter was like a gut-punch and caused the unwanted memories of the nun to resurface.

She saw Lancelot looking at her with worry written all over his handsome face, but when he wrapped his arms tightly around her, tucked her head under his chin, and gently rocked her, she barely felt the warmth of his embrace.

She heard her beloved ordering people around and his commanding voice should be soothing and make her feel safe… but she didn’t understand a word that was being said as all sound was muffled like she was submerged in water.

_She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move._

_FLASH! All sound got sucked out. All she could feel was a blissful breeze on her face. She closed her eyes and smiled._

_FLASH! She could hear the whistling of an arrow flying through the air… She was the arrow. She saw the trajectory…_

_NOOO! Everything went white in a blast of icy snow._

_Suddenly there was only darkness surrounding her like an inky resin. She could only hear her breathing... there was somebody else too. She was trapped in a cocoon-like prison. She started kicking the walls frantically. She tried to scream but her voice was trapped in the throat._

_FLASH! Green flames exploded around her. The larger they grew, the colder she felt. She let out a mighty roar and the cage exploded into millions of ice particles._

_FLASH! She felt cool grass under her fingers and felt the warmth of the sun. She heard children’s laughter._

_She sat up and saw four kids standing nearby and giggling at her. One of them, the oldest-looking boy, came close and kneeled in front of her and presented her with a small bunch of daisies, saying, “Don’t give up… No matter what they say, don’t ever give up…”_

_FLASH! Everything went black._

“…my love,” Lancelot’s voice got through to her groggy mind.

Nimue opened her eyes slowly, feeling the warmth of his arms again. He was sitting on the ground, cradling her securely. She looked into his eyes and saw… fear? Was is afraid for her? Or had he seen what she’d seen?

She swallowed hard, licked her parched lips and asked, “Did you see…?”

He only shook his head and looked up at someone. She followed and saw the worried faces of their friends and Mabuz who was looking at her, intrigued. Merlin was nowhere to be seen.

“You should move now. We will follow later,” Lancelot said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice, “Gawain, you know where to set up the camp,” the Green Knight nodded curtly and walked away, “Mabuz, can you help them to get there safely?” the older man, who was still frowning at Nimue, nodded and after a moment, was gone too.

“What about the Guards’ bodies?” Galehaut asked.

“Let them rot,” Asher said coldly without looking back at the body-littered woodland, “Take their masks though. I want to see Wicklow’s face when he sees them,” he finished darkly. Galehaut didn’t say anything, just called for his men to do as the King ordered.

Once Nimue and Lancelot were finally left alone and they were surrounded only by soothing sounds of the forest – the cascading water, the birdsong, and the wind rustling among the spring leaves, Lancelot went back across the bridge to bring their horses and satchels.

Nimue's her mind went back to the vision she had experienced. She wasn't sure whether Lancelot had seen it but she didn’t want to ask or talk about it, in case if he hadn't. He had enough burden on his shoulders right now. And she was too confused and tired to try to make sense out of it.

She huffed at her own indecision, seeing Asher coming back after a while.

“Let’s go,” was all Lancelot said before mounting Goliath.

Soon, the left the morbid forest behind and rode out into the rolling landscape.

“We rest here,” Asher’s announcement surprised her as they had gotten a mere mile away from the Falls.

She didn’t protest though and silently dismounted her horse by a stream they stopped by. The animals were let loose to graze while they sat in a dappled shade of an alder tree, enjoying the cool airy feel of the babbling beck.

Lancelot took his boots off, walked into the water and paddled for a while, closing his eyes and rising the face towards the sunbeams peeking through the tree canopy.

He barely spoke which was a sure sign of him still processing the events but he was visibly relaxed and that made Nimue smile when she sat down and rested against the old tree.

But the images from her vision came back. It was so much different than the other visions. This time she didn’t just see flashing images. Instead, she was in it, she felt it… yet, she couldn’t navigate it in any way.

She closed her eyes and shuddered, feeling unwanted tears gathering in her eyes.

“What is it, my love?” suddenly she heard his quiet voice very close to her. She only shook her head, her eyes still closed. The tears got out from under her eyelids and spilled onto her cheeks when she let out a sob.

She immediately found herself in his warm embrace and reveled in its safety.

“May I?” he asked after a long while, looking into her eyes. She didn’t know what he was asking about. She didn’t care. She nodded in agreement.

She didn’t protest when without a word, he stripped the layers of her clothing off, leaving her bare.

She didn’t protest when he hooked one arm under her knees and the other one around her back and carried her to the stream.

She didn’t protest when he gently washed every inch of her body, leaving her shivering from the cold water but feeling refreshed.

She didn’t protest when he took her hand and walked them back to the alder, sitting her on a protruding tree root, in a sunny spot, like a queen on a throne.

She didn’t protest when he lovingly kissed her brow, then let his lips caress hers sweetly, his tongue worship her breasts, his fingers draw circles on the sensitive skin under her bellybutton, his nose nuzzle her pubic hair, his teeth graze lightly at the tender skin of her thighs, his mouth press a firm kiss the pad of her foot.

She didn’t protest when his hands spread her knees widely, baring her to his eyes, his touch, his lips.

She didn’t protest…

Instead, she welcomed every touch, every swirl of his tongue, every kiss, and every bite.

The tears started flowing anew but this time, there was only overwhelming ecstasy and love filling every cell of her being.

And when her body was still trembling from the climax, Lancelot rested his cheek on her belly and let his slender fingers delicately run through the soft hair on her mound.

No words were needed. None were said.

Even when, after a while, she tugged at his tunic, prompting him to remove his clothing and led him back to the stream.

Even when all that he had done to her, was being done to him.

Even when she was showing him her adoration with her lips, her tongue, her teeth, and her hands.

Only when he exploded onto her tongue, he clenched his fists tangled in her hair, and let out a loud animalistic groan.

The sound alone left her wanting again.

That sound alone reminded her how alive they were.

Nimue climbed onto his lap, straddling him. They looked at each other, smiling lovingly and laughing.

Lancelot pulled her towards him to kiss the tip of her nose and then pressed her to his chest so close, she could feel their heartbeats mixing and blending.

“We are alive. We are together,” he said quietly with his lips in her hair, “And that’s all that matters. Let’s cherish what we have rather than dread about what we may lose, my beloved.”

These were the last words she heard before the heat of his skin and his heartbeat lulled her to sleep.

[ ](https://sta.sh/0v261cfz6lr)

* * *

Merlin had had to walk off the lingering anger. So he left...

He didn’t expect to be left behind though. He also didn’t expect his horse to be gone.

That didn’t help his mood. He huffed and walked in the direction where the camp was to be set up... five miles away! He huffed again.

Just as he came across a stream and followed it, he heard a woman’s laughter… his daughter’s laughter! The man’s mood lightened up at once and he hurried to meet her.

He was just about to call out her name when the sight of the two stark-naked Fey, casually sitting on a tree root, stopped him in his tracks and… Was he blushing? At his age? After all he had seen during his long life? _Huh_ …

But he couldn’t turn his eyes away - there was something breathtakingly beautiful and serene about the way they were basking in the sun, shamelessly naked and comfortable with each other. Lancelot was resting against the trunk in a semi-sitting position, Nimue was sitting on his lap, both were smiling happily. He cuddled her tenderly, she wrapped her legs around his and rested her head and hands on his chest. The man said something quietly and soon, the girl was asleep.

But the moment wasn’t over. The young King stroke her back several times before tightening his embrace. He let out a shaky sob and hid his face in her hair, his body was wracked with soundless sobs as he was working through whatever was happening in him.

That disturbingly sad sight got Merlin worried. That boy was trying to atone so much, he was giving everything he had to the cause. All this, and the fact that Asher had to be the strong leader everyone needed right now, had to take a toll on this poor lad.

But however heartbreaking it was to see Lancelot so lost and… lonely, Merlin knew the young man wouldn’t appreciate him spying on the couple in their most intimate moments, and most certainly wouldn’t want to talk about it as he was a very private man.

The magician quietly retreated and came back after a while, making as much noise as possible. He saw the horses nearby and call out to them, just to let the couple by the stream know he was approaching.

When he came into the view, they were already dressed and packing their satchels.

Nimue waved to him, smiling joyfully, “Where did you disappear off to, father?”

“Well, considering that I had lost my temper and murdered that poor creature, it’s safe to say it was for the best that I distanced myself,” Merlin grimaced guiltily.

“She looked familiar,” Lancelot wondered.

“Iris was a nun at the Abbey,” Nimue said quietly.

Merlin could swear he heard the man mumbling to himself _Has everyone been a nun at that bloody Abbey at some point?_

Suddenly Asher straightened up, “Iris?” he frowned and then raised his eyebrows as high as possible, “That’s the nun that ratted you out that day…”

“…that day you _didn’t_ catch the Wolf-Blood Witch?” Merlin interrupted him, gazing at him innocently. The younger man, in return, sent the magician a warning look.

“Get on the horse, old man,” Lancelot’s voice was dangerously low, his face blank. The sorcerer grinned at him but obediently mounted Nimue’s horse while she and Lancelot shared Goliath.

Merlin smiled seeing his daughter’s happiness who, oblivious to the word game between the men, molded herself snuggly into Lancelot sitting behind her. She hummed quietly with her back resting against the man’s chest, occasionally turning her head to lovingly nuzzle and kiss his neck. In return, Asher would bow his head and kiss her behind her ear or on her cheek.

They traveled at a leisurely pace, talking about the Fey clans and their future. Nimue was anxious to go back _home_ and finally settle down. Lancelot was quiet as usual, only speaking when directly spoken to. _A real social butterfly that one_ , Merlin thought fondly.

Less than a couple of hours later, in the early evening, they approached the camp that emerged from between the hills.

“Merlin…” Lancelot commanded Goliath to stop and hesitated, watching the camp from afar.

“What is it, son?” he looked at the young man seriously, stopping next to him.

“Do you have any ideas on who might’ve betrayed us? Asher asked almost nervously as if afraid of the possible answer.

Merlin's mind immediately ventured to Mordred. That man wasn’t trustworthy or loyal to anyone but himself… But he had never seen the Scot being as impressed as he seemed to be with Lancelot. There was an aura of genuine respect and affection whenever the two were around each other. Also, the mercenary was most helpful during making plans which resulted in everyone warming up to the man. Especially Arthur who had used to be a mercenary himself. He and Mordred created a sort of brotherhood and Arthur, after being knighted, promised in a drunken haze, he’d make sure Gawain’s brother would be knighted too one day.

Could it be Rugen working with Wicklow then? To be fair, they hadn’t spent a moment considering the Leper King as a real danger. Maybe they had underestimated the Lepers? Everyone had been so focused on making sure the Church’s or Cumber’s scouts wouldn’t venture onto the Pendragon lands, it was possible they missed Rugen’s spies.

Or... Uther? No, no, no. That's not possible. Pendragon was a faulty man but not capable of playing three sides!

The sorcerer didn’t know what to think anymore. He did realise he was prejudiced towards Mordred and his judgment might be skewed…

“Could it be Mordred?” Nimue asked from out of nowhere and shrugged, seeing the men's surprised reaction, “I don’t like him, that’s all,” she murmured.

“I don’t think we should be forming our decision based on our personal likes and dislikes, my Queen,” Lancelot chuckled, tightened his arms around her and kissed the crook of her neck, making her giggle girlishly.

“I did consider him for a moment,” the older man said thoughtfully, “But I’m not sure anymore… He’s in the Abbey, with the others after all. Wouldn’t he bail right after leaving the castle if it was him?”

“And even if he planned anything, he doesn’t have the numbers to overpower all the Fey, Picts, and Irish who are with him,” Asher agreed with him and thought for a moment, “Rugen? Uther?” he finished, looking the sorcerer.

“I... I really don't know. Sorry,” Merlin felt bad he had no assurance for the Ash King.

Lancelot looked towards the camp, dejected, “Let’s do it then,” he sighed and made Goliath trot downhill to join their people.

* * *

**MAPS**

* * *

So... this happened.

It looks like I had too much time on my hands recently (NOT!) and I decided to add some maps... since I spent a lot of time trying to figure out travel times / suitable locations etc.

I am fully aware those don't really matter to anyone but me... but I already had them in a sketch form so... WHY NOT 😅

Click on the image to see it enlarged:

[ ](https://sta.sh/0298s9sgteqc)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't get me wrong - I love Iris... or rather I love hating Iris.  
> But for what she did to the nuns, to others, to Nimue - I found that putting her down quickly, quietly and without drama was fitting.
> 
> MAINTENANCE NOTES:  
> I'd like to reduce the word count in this monster and I would appreciate if you let me know which bit you've found unnecessary so far... because for me, every detail counts but I have enough sense to know that I could probably delete at least 10%.  
> I need your brutal honesty as I don't have a beta-reader to help me out... so... do your worst! 😉  
> Also, I sincerely apologise to you for all the typos and other mistakes... I keep going back to old chapters and get embarrassed, seeing the grammatic and linguistic quality of my writing.  
> So... If you ever come back to re-read, you may find a different story all together 😅


	23. The Dark Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I cannot apologise enough for the huge delay.  
> All I can say, I got stuck... and it took me weeks to find my way back.  
> Honestly, this chapter is waay too long... so if you come back in a month, it will probably be changed (like all the chapters so far 😅)  
> As usual, any feedback is welcome.  
> And big THANKS to those, who have stayed with this story for so long! You're my heroes 💪🙌💖

[ ](https://sta.sh/0dwnulxc0w8)

“Now what, priest?!” Cumber was pacing around a table at which Abbot Wicklow was studying texts.

He couldn’t believe he possibly had made a mistake by joining his forces with the Church's! All the assurances from the cleric, as well as his own calculations, should put him in the winning position. So why didn’t he feel like a victor?

The Trinity Guards were supposed to be back by now. _Easy task_ , Wicklow said, _No pathetic rabble of demon fairies can match the soldiers of Rome_ , he added arrogantly.

 _I should’ve done it myself_ , Cumber thought about that bitch - Red Spear who, surely, was part of that _rabble_. He just knew she was!

“What do you mean?” Wicklow asked with a bored voice.

“Do you want me to spell it out to you? Are you dumb?” the Viking rested this clenched fists onto the table and leaned forward to get into the priest’s face, “Fine. I’ll ask again: What are we going to do now after your so-called _elite soldiers_ were obviously destroyed by a handful of the magical folk?!”

“We don’t know that yet,” the Abbott said calmly, “There’s still time.”

“Time?!” the king couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “The meeting was supposed to take place at dawn and it’s almost bloody evening!” he was irritated by the man’s nonchalant attitude.

“Look… _Your Highness_ ,” Wicklow managed to make it sound like an insult, “You seem to be under impression that those creatures are some kind of invincible pagan gods… But I assure you they cannot match Trinity Guard,” he said dismissively, “A few Fey freaks stand no chance against our best… Demons can never win over God’s soldiers!” he finished pompously.

Cumber rolled his eyes and said, “What about the Gennewisian soldiers they brought with them? What about Uther Pendragon’s support?”

“Look, even if the _Great_ Merlin was to attend the meeting, they’d have no one else to be a real threat to us,” the cleric said lightly, “Even if the wayward Viking you’re so obsessed with, was there, they’d stand no chance.”

“What about the Wolf-Blood Witch?”

“What about her?” Wicklow looked at the Viking dismissively, “She might do some damage but we got her once, we can get her again.”

“You seem so confident in your precious Trinity Guards’ abilities,” Cumber smiled maliciously at the man, “Were you that confident when the Weeping Monk massacred a dozen of them?” he finished with a mirthless chuckle, knowing that it would unsettle the man.

Surely enough, paled Wicklow sprang up from his chair, saying through his teeth, “That was an error of judgments on my part, I admit. But since the Monk is gone, we don’t have anything to worry about, may it be the Gaelic army or Pendragon who wouldn’t really dare interfere with the Chruch’s business.”

“I wish I had your…”

“Riders!” a monk rushed into the tent and looked between them, “Riders are comi…” the rest of the sentenced got drowned in a high-pitched humming noise that made the men leave the tent in search of the source.

What awaited them, could only be described as deeply unsettling. Cumber had seen some unexplainable things in his life… but the white wall of dense fog lit up with veins of lightning from within, and slowly moving towards them from the north-west, made even him, the fearless warrior he was, gasp.

“What do we do now, priest?” he repeated his question from mere minutes ago.

“We wait and see what that is all about,” Wicklow said casually but his voice trembled, “They must think they can scare us with their magic tricks.”

“Looks like it’s working,” Cumber looked around at his men and the monks surrounding them.

“Ready the troops, have them on stand-by,” Abbott ordered his men.

“Torsten!” Ice King called out, not letting his eyes off the milky wall. He wasn’t convinced about the harmlessness of it all. After all, Wicklow’s judgment failed him twice already. Once, with the skills of the Trinity Guards who, it was clear now, got defeated at the Falls, and before then, with assessing the Weeping Monk’s abilities.

All Norsemen in Brittania had heard stories about the Grey Warrior and his deadly dance with blades. The mysterious man was probably the only person Ice King was weary of and had some resemblance of respect for, despite never meeting the man. He was relieved the Monk was no more.

When his adjutant approached him, he ordered, “Make sure we all are ready to move immediately if required and send few men to check the possible route of retreat to the south,” the servant looked at the fog and seemed to understand what his king was trying to say because he nodded curtly and left without a word.

“Brother Martin, have you managed to assess how many there are?” Wicklow asked the monk who had brought the news first.

“At least a dozen,” the man said and then crossed himself, “The Wolf-Blood Witch, the Viking, and Merlin the Magician are amongst them,” he looked fearfully towards the fog that was a mere hundred yards away.

“Dozen? Hm…” Abbot shrugged, “Looks like they still want to talk… We’ll see what it is they want to say before we rid this world of the scum,” he smirked and walked forward. Cumber followed and stood next to the arrogant cleric as they waited.

 _We’ll see indeed_ , he felt a rush of adrenaline at the thought of facing Red Spear.

The fog suddenly stopped moving twenty yards away and eight riders emerged slowly, stopping halfway.

They were a mix of Humans and Fey: a man with tusks protruding from the sides of his head, another man covered in tattoos, then…

 _That traitorous bitch!_ Cumber and Guinevere stared at each other. Oh, how he couldn’t wait to wrap his fingers around her throat!

To her left, there was a man in a shiny armor. _A Gennewisian_ , Ice King thought about one of the few kingdoms he and his people hadn’t visited… _Yet_ , he smirked.

Then there was a gap in the line, closed by the sorcerer _. Merlin, you’re on the wrong side of the history, you fool_ , the King spat on the ground, locking his eyes with the man.

To Merlin’s right, a man was sitting casually sitting atop his horse. He wore a green spangenhelm with antlers. Cumber heard a gasp and looked at astounded Wicklow.

“The Green Knight was supposed to be dead,” the cleric murmured to himself, “I saw him being taken away to Brother Salt… How is it possible…”

The line was closed by two dark-skinned women – one with antlers on her head, and the other one - the feline-resembling warrior who slaughtered his people on the North Beach. _I’ll get to you too_ , _sweetheart_ , the Viking smiled cruelly.

No one said anything or moved for a while… until a clanking sound put everyone on edge and another two riders materialised out of the fog.

A woman had intricate long braids atop her head, a woven leather chest plate over her sapphire long dress split in the middle, showing off leather leggings, and a flowy blue cloak on her shoulders.

And the man was wearing all black: leather tunic, leather boots and leather leggings. He had two swords on him and an iron & fur shoulder guard with a tree symbol engraved in the chest plate. His face was hidden under a black hood of a leather cloak.

Cumber’s eyes slid down to the ground where the clanking was coming from. Attached with a rope to the man’s horse’s saddle and dragged behind it, were the gold masks of Trinity Guards.

“I think we just got our answer, priest,” Ice King said sourly.

When he didn’t get any answer, he looked at the man next to him and suddenly, possibly for the first time in his life, he felt his stomach drop.

Wicklow’s face was ghastly pale, his quivering lips unsuccessfully attempted to utter a word but letting out only weak whimpers as his glassy eyes didn’t leave the approaching man for a second.

Meanwhile, the cloaked man and the woman dismounted their horses and walked towards them. The rest of the group remained in their saddles.

Once several yards away, the man stopped, pulling down his hood.

 _The Weeping Monk_ , Ice King looked at the ashen markings on the young man’s face, half with admiration for the warrior he’d heard so much about, half with the fear that his plans of taking the kingdom from Pendragon might be quashed by this _resurrection_.

The young man looked at Abbot and deadpanned, “Missed me?”

* * *

It would be a gross understatement to say that Lancelot didn’t feel a wicked satisfaction upon seeing Wicklow’s reaction to his arrival.

He also felt somehow amused seeing both Ice King and a man who seemed to be a new leader of the Red Paladins, gaping at him.

All in all, the anger he’d felt at those cockroaches for sneakily attacking them the previous day, was _almost_ gone. Now, he was just mainly curious.

“So,” Asher looked at Abbot who seemed to be shaking off the initial shock, “You didn’t bother to show up this morning therefore, as a gesture of goodwill, here we are.”

“Huh,” Cumber snickered and looked around his people, saying loudly, “This pup thinks he can intimidate us,” some Vikings and monks laughed at that, though it was forced uncertain laughter.

Lancelot took a few steps towards Cumber and looked him dead in the eye, saying, “Yes. Yes, I do think that.”

“And you brought none other than Wolf-Blood Witch with you,” Wicklow snarled at Nimue who just smiled coldly.

* * *

Nimue understood Lancelot’s need to confront Abbot and she also enjoyed every terrified glance she received after the cleric had called her by her “witch” name.

That, however, triggered the red-robed man standing between Ice King and Wicklow, to step forward and spit at her, sneering, “How fitting, a weeping demon and his witching whore!”

The burst of laughter made Nimue grasp the hilt of her sword tightly. But she knew she couldn’t react the way she wanted to. She knew she shouldn’t…

Lancelot didn’t seem to have any qualms though as the fiery Fey Sword was in his hand momentarily and with one twirl of the blade, he decapitated the Paladin and sent his head rolling on the grass. It stopped right at the Wicklow’s feet.

Nobody laughed now.

Everybody stared at the Ash King who froze with the sword raised high.

The sight of her beloved with the flaming crown, glowing markings and most of all, the blazing weapon, was as hypnotising now as it had been the very first time she’d seen it.

“I guess we’re done with pleasantries,” Asher growled, putting his sword back in the scabbard.

Wicklow, yet again, turned pale and speechless. Cumber was comically failing at being nonchalant about what he had just seen here.

Nobody said a word about the dead monk.

Lancelot grabbed the head by the hair and walked to Goliath, attaching the memento to the rest of his _collection_.

 _Morbid_ , Nimue thought.

She looked at her King as he returned to her side and took her hand, kissing it courtly. The sadness in his eyes made her want to hug him. He really had hoped for a peaceful solution but he knew that his action rendered it impossible.

But she had to try! She squeezed Asher’s hand and stepped forward, looking at Abbot who glared at her hatefully.

“We do not want to fight. We want peace,” she said with a strong voice, “If you promise to leave all Fey alone and not to venture north past this point, we will just leave,” she looked at the stunned faces in front of her and waited for the leaders’ response.

“Over my dead body! This kingdom belongs to me!” Cumber snarled at her.

“Abbot?” Nimue looked at the quiet monk who was gripping his rosaries so tightly, it was surprising it didn’t just snap.

“God Almighty shall never bargain with demons,” he said quietly and paused, looking at Lancelot, “Even the ones who come back from the dead,” he spat on the ground, “We will never bow to your demands, so you can go to Hell where you belong!”

Asher gently grabbed her arms and pulled her towards the horses. He helped her up before mounting Goliath.

“See you tomorrow at dawn then,” Asher said coldly and rode away.

Soon, they disappeared into the cover of the milky fog.

Nimue hadn’t said a word when they came back to the camp and Lancelot announced he was going to meet the army leaders alone.

Before their army left Pendragon Castle, it had been agreed that each faction would send representatives and meet at Arthur’s camp a night before the planned battle. They were to discuss any issues that could arise and agree on the final details of the attack.

She wanted to go with him but she understood he needed to spend some time alone to think through the events that occurred at Ure Abbey. That was her Monk and by now, she knew better than to force her company on him.

The Ash man ordered everyone to start the preparations for the next day, then took her in his arms and kissed her tenderly, murmuring, “I’m sorry,” and rode away towards the mountains.

The Fey Queen asked Gawain and Galehaut to follow him discreetly as she didn’t want to risk their King’s safety. They obeyed without hesitation.

She wasn’t in a mood for any company so she retired to their tent to stay there until his return.

Nimue was woken up by the rustling of covers and the feeling of warm body spooning her. She smiled and turned to face Lancelot.

Even in the darkened tent illuminated only by a single candle, she could see his somber face and his intense gaze when his fingers traced her facial features with tenderness that brought tears to her eyes.

She got up and lit a few more candles and without a word, stripped naked, looking into her lover’s eyes. Then she knelt at the side of the cot and started unlacing his boots.

When he protested at this, she whispered with a smile, “Allow me, my King.”

She helped him to undress, letting her hands caress every revealed fragment of his skin.

And when she finally laid down, Lancelot immediately covered her body with his. They both sighed in great relief when they joined, holding each other tightly.

In complete silence, Nimue wrapped her legs around his torso and their bodies started moving in a desperate dance of lovers who knew it could be the last time.

There was no room for playfulness, or laughter, or even words of love. There was only the overwhelming need to be as close as possible, to leave a phantom imprint on each other’s body, to memorise each thrust and each quiet moan.

Because they only had this moment. Because they might not have tomorrow.

* * *

“What do you mean, _they never returned_?!” Cumber grabbed the messenger by the front of his tunic and pushed him against a table. Did the scouts desert them? The cowards! “Nevermind. Bring them to me as soon as they come back… if they come back,” he said darkly and left the tent to meet Wicklow who was quietly praying, surrounded by the morning mist and warming sunbeams.

“Why are you so aggravated, Your Highness? Nervous?” the cleric asked, smirking.

“Careful now, priest…” the Viking sent him a warning look but then sighed and confessed, “I sent out my scouts yesterday and they've never come back, that’s all,” he glanced at Abbot to gauge his reaction but the man was weirdly silent, “What’s on your mind?”

The cleric didn’t say anything for few moments, just looked at him with a frown. Finally, he folded his arms on the chest and confessed, “I also had sent out our scouts to the south the day before yesterday and they came back with _all clear_. But then I sent another team yesterday… and they are also missing.”

The men exchanged long, worried looks before Cumber joined the calvary at the front while Wicklow joined the Trinity Guard in the centre of their formation. The Red Paladins were to follow Trinity Guard's lead.

For the first time, Cumber didn’t feel the usual smugness and excitement before the battle. For the first time, he was uncertain of the choices he had made.

After seeing the weird Fey magic and the Weeping Monk’s transformation, he wasn’t eager to engage in this fight. After his scouts hadn't returned, he felt the need to watch his back.

Luckily the terrain where the battle was to take place was a rolling grassland so his horsemen could take the enemy head-on, with a stream as the only obstacle. They would be no hiding between the hills.

Also, the Fey army seemed to be grossly outnumbered and stood no chance against their army of over four thousand. Did they trust their magic tricks so much they lost their reason? _Fools_.

A sudden flash of lightning accompanied by a penetrating thunder transformed the sky.

He looked toward the crest of the hill where the enemy’s riders appeared. _It’s time_.

“ATTACK!” Cumber and the calvary rushed forward to meet their foe.

His eyes were solely focused on Red Spear as hers were on him. _This ends today_ , was the last thought before he raised his sword.

* * *

Lancelot watched his people storming down the hill and clashing with the Ice King’s soldiers. He saw Red Spear engaging in a vicious fight with a blonde woman. He saw the first dead falling to the ground amongst the sound of battle cries and steel-on-steel dinging.

He watched it all from his elevated spot from across the stream that separated the active battlefield from the Abbey. He could also see Merlin and Mabuz down at the mouth of the beck, on the river’s bank, a few hundred yards away. Nimue and the Fey were to wait for his signal on the opposite side of the Abbey, by the river.

Asher knew their plan had to work as it was a solid plan. But being away from the fight didn’t sit right with him anyway.

For now, he waited for the Viking infantry to join their riders across the stream. And once that happened, he blew the horn borrowed from Bors, letting everyone in the Allied Army know, it was the time to unleash the full power of their forces.

Without any delay, he rushed Goliath and rode to the east of the Abbey, hearing the crackling of thunder concealed by Mabuz’s fog that appeared all along the stream bed behind. Anyone who would get even close to the foggy wall, would perish.

Just as he reached the top of a knoll, King Uther and Arthur’s factions spilled over the crests of the surrounding hills.

The Pendragon army went straight for the most numerous Red Paladins who were clearly not prepared for the attack from the rear. That resulted in chaos. Every monk seemed to fight to save his own skin.

The Gennewisian and the Vikings continued to clash with Cumber’s warriors. The numbers seemed evenly matched so the outcome of the battle on this front seemed uncertain.

Wicklow and the Trinity Guards were stuck between the two battlefronts.

 _Good_ , Lancelot smiled, took his blazing sword out, and raised it high above his head, letting Nimue know that he was ready.

Before the Trinity Guards fully realised what was happening, Nimue’s vines shot up from the ground, creating a barrier, trapping the Guards between the two fronts, the Abbey and Lancelot for good.

But that wasn’t enough. He wanted to see Abbot’s panicked face. He wanted him to shake with fear of what was coming for him.

So, unnoticed by Wicklow, he waited patiently, for minutes or hours – he didn’t know, surrounded by the chilling sounds of war and chaos, by the screams of the dying, by the scent of smoke and blood.

Trinity Guards started retreating towards the Abbey, surrounding the Abbot in a protective ring.

“I don’t think so,” Lancelot murmured and for the last time, blew the horn.

A low rumble was heard and even from his position, he could feel the earth vibrating.

Moments later, the ground between the Guards and the Abbey collapsed, burying some of Wicklow’s soldiers, cutting off the rest.

From the newly-created trench, Bernard, Mordred, and others emerged, engaging the stunned gold-faced monks in a brutal battle.

Soon, the southern Fey, led by Kaze and Gawain, joined the efforts. Nimue, luckily, was nowhere in sight.

Lancelot felt the adrenaline rushing through his veins, the excitement building up in his body as Goliath galloped downhill to meet their enemy.

* * *

Nimue was hunkered down in a willow coppice by the river, watching the events unfold. She could see King Uther’s soldiers dominating the battlefield and slowly rounding up the Paladins. It looked like the monks would have to surrender soon as they were no match for the well-equipped soldiers of the Pendragon army.

Gawain and others left her to join the battle. She stayed behind as per Lancelot’s orders. She knew she was of no use in the hand-to-hand combat.

So she sat down in meadow grass, hidden between the trees and watched everything from afar, ready to assist in the only way she was good at.

Suddenly, Nimue heard a rustling of grass behind her. But before she could react, she felt a sharp pain in the back of her head and immediately, everything went dark.

* * *

“You will pay for this, you bitch!” Cumber snarled at Red Spear who had her glaive still sunken in Eydis’ neck, “I will cut you open and strangle you with your own gut.”

“Enough!” Red Spear snarled and pulled her weapon out of Eydis’s body so forcefully, he felt his daughter's blood splattering onto his face.

There was a moment of silence as the cold fury was taking over his body and mind.

He was going to kill her now. He was going to hack at her until her bloodied bits were scattered all around the field for animals to feast upon.

He grinned. She snarled. They clashed.

Again and again.

Red Spear was having a hard time keeping up with his rage-fueled attack. He was pushing her backward, towards the wall of fog.

She tripped on a corpse and dropped the shield that landed on the ground, next to her.

He sank his blade into her flesh. She let out an angry, painful cry.

He smiled and pull out his axe and raised it to finish her.

But it wasn’t to be as a sudden blow to his head made him drop the weapon.

The last thing he saw was the face of the Gennewisian knight’s gold-crested chest plate.

* * *

There was something infinitely exhilarating in being able to release the caged beasts Lancelot had been trying to contain for so long.

The voices in him were singing an unintelligible ode to his fury.

The dark spirit reveled in being bathed in his foe’s blood and praised him for his efforts to save the Fey.

The Fire he carried, burned every enemy that challenged the mighty Ash King, the Protector of the Fey, the Weeping Monk.

With the Widow who had appeared by his side as soon as he had joined the fight, he felt almost immortal – like a death god, like the demon Father Carden had accused him of being.

He was so focused on hacking his way through the Guards, he initially didn’t hear Gawain calling out to him and pointing towards the _Pendragon Front_.

Lancelot turned and froze. He dropped his sword.

Nimue’s vine wall was gone.

* * *

Merlin sighed with relief when the Ice Kingdom’s warriors surrendered as soon as Cumber’s body slumped on the ground.

That was the code. That was the rule of nature – cut off the head, and the body dies instantly.

“Things are looking promising, aren’t they?” Mabuz asked as they watched the magic fog recede.

“Yeah, and they didn’t even lose that many on either side,” Merlin knew it would be impossible to achieve a clean victory but it surprised him how few fighters had died.

Both men got up off the sandy bank and moved towards the abbey, leaving their horses behind.

Just as they scaled the riverbank, a terrifying roar filled the valley in which the Abbey was sitting, and the ground shook violently.

“What is Geraint up to now?” Merlin murmured, frowning, “That wasn’t the plan,” he scurried in search of a better observation spot.

Another mighty roar and this time the earth felt like its crust was about to break. The river waters gurgled, releasing hot steam.

Merlin looked at Mabuz who just shook his head, as astounded as the sorcerer.

Nimue. Was it her doing?

Suddenly, everything stopped.

Suddenly, the ground groaned and cracked open, creating large veins like a field’s soil during drought.

Suddenly, a howling sound came from the jagged wounds in the earth.

And then, green flames burst out of the cracks with the force, that made the dirt rise and float around the edges.

Frightened, Merlin looked toward the far side of the valley and whispered, “Lancelot.”

Without a word, he broke into a run, calling for Mabuz to keep up.

They ran, avoiding the cracks and jumping over the flames.

They ran past the Abbey as its walls rumbled and the building stones were shaking and turning in protest.

As they reached the Fey fighters, a groaning sound and a massive bang were heard and the bell tower crumbled to the ground with a reverberating thud, its heart beating a last sorrowful song as the bell rolled away from the ruins.

Merlin didn’t stop. He ran past the stunned crowds of warriors, silent and motionless.

He rounded the Trinity Guards, now cowering away from the flames that had them trapped. There couldn’t be more than a hundred of them left now.

And then, Merlin - the Great Sorcerer who witnessed all possible wonders, got rooted to the spot.

Mere twenty yards away, on a patch of charred and cracked soil vibrating under the pressure of the green embers underneath, Lancelot du Lac – the Ash King, was standing with his eyes closed and hands clinging tightly to his sword. His clothes were completely burned off. The expression of pure agony on his face was as terrifying as the sight of green lava, flowing through his veins and glowing underneath the surface of the skin.

He looked as if he was levitating. Maybe because of the trembling heat above the surface of the ground… Or maybe because of the enormous wings made of Fey Fire, stretching at least a dozen yards to each side.

“Lancelot!” Merlin shouted once the initial shock passed. Nothing.

He cautiously walked closer, avoiding getting burnt. But that had to be too close for the entranced in the pain Asher, as the sorcerer got sent flying with one powerful flap of the wing.

The valley’s ground shook again and more cracks appeared, more flames.

Most Fey had enough sense to flee the area. Soon, only Lancelot, Merlin and the Trinity Guards were left in the danger zone.

“Lancelot, snap out of it!” Gawain yelled, joining the magician. Kaze and Mabuz followed.

“What now?!” Kaze asked worryingly, “We need to stop him before he kills us all!”

Merlin took a deep breath and said, “I could call for the Ambisagrus’ lightning,” he chewed on his lip, “But I’ve never used it to disarm somebody, only to kill.”

Gawain looked sharply at him, “Do we have a choice?”

“No,” the older man said and took his position.

[ ](https://sta.sh/01vjb162zkmk)

* * *

Nimue groaned, feeling a thudding pain in her head. She opened her eyes slowly and was met with a wrinkled face of an elderly monk. Panic grabbed her momentarily, she tried to crawl away from the man and monks surrounding him.

“Fear not, my child,” he said kindly, “We shall not hurt you.”

“You want me to believe you, priest?” her hand searched for the Sword but it wasn’t there! A new wave of panic made her dizzy. But it passed as quickly when she remembered giving the Sword to her father, for safekeeping.

Her musings were interrupted by an angry groan of the nearby buildings’ walls grating against each other, accompanied by the powerful vibrations from underneath the ground.

“I will gladly answer all of your questions later but now, we need to hurry or else we will have the Abbey falling onto our heads,” the man looked worried as he helped her get up off the muddy shore of the river. How had she ended up down here?

“What’s happening?” she asked when the sky flashed with hundreds of bolts of lightning.

“A dark angel with fiery wings has descended upon this valley to serve justice to those who harmed the innocent and avenge those who were wronged,” one of the younger monks whispered reverently and his words culminated with a burst of green fire mixed with another thunderbolt.

“Lancelot. Merlin,” Nimue whispered, watching the spectacle in the sky.

She didn’t know what and why it was happening but that wasn’t part of the plan. Something had to go wrong!

“What’s the quickest way to get there…” she frowned, “Sorry, what is your name?” she looked apologetically at the elder monk.

“I’m Abbot Witton, my dear,” the man smiled.

“Nimue.”

“Ah, the Fey Queen herself,” he chuckled and the monks gasped and stared at her with admiration mixed with fear.

“How do you know that?” she felt the dread coming back.

“From your people who were residing in the dungeons,” Abbot Witton winked at her.

“Oh,” Nimue nodded slowly, trying to calm her racing heart, “Can you help me, Abbot?”

“Of course,” the man ordered his people to stay behind and move towards the lone tree growing on the verge of the battlefield, “A half an hour ago, the safest route would be through the dungeons and up through the Plogs' tunnels…but now, everything is either falling apart or on fire,” he looked at her concerned, “So you’ll have to run for it, my child. There is no other way. If you run along the base of this knoll, the Trinity Guards won’t be able to see you… You will, however, be exposed to the Red Paladins… But I’m guessing everybody is too captivated by the Dark Angel to even notice you…”

Nimue wasn’t listening. Mesmerised, she was watching the confrontation happening in the distance. 

The mighty clash of Merlin’s magic and Lancelot’s Fey Fire was a sight to behold.

Every bolt sent the Asher’s way was met with angry green flames, wrapping around it and extinguishing it with a high-pitched hiss. Every flap of the giant wings was countered with a shot of lighting, sending green sparks flying everywhere with terrifying crackling.

Why were they fighting?

She couldn’t fathom nor she cared. She had to get there before one of them would get hurt… or killed.

Nimue turned to the Abbot and shook his hand, “Thank you.”

She ran.

* * *

Lancelot knew it was wrong to fight with Merlin. He didn’t want it. But he couldn’t help it.

The despair that had taken over his mind and body, wouldn’t let the reason dictate the course of action.

Because Nimue’s vines were gone. Her scent was gone. She was gone.

There was nothing left for him here. Because of Wicklow. Because of the Fey.

He hated them all. They had taken his love away. They all would pay for it!

Another powerful lightning was swatted away by his wing and sent towards the gold-faced cowards. Several fell dead. _Good_.

Another swing of his sword was met with Merlin’s magic, trapping the blade in a lightning rope.

For a while, they played a weird magical tug of war but the younger man, fueled by madness and anger, flapped his wing, sweeping the sorcerer off his feet.

But that didn’t sate Lancelot’s need for blood and revenge and violence.

He would take as many Humans, Fey - he didn't care, out as possible before letting Merlin kill him.

He let out an angry roar and stabbed the earth with his sword, splitting it, and with one forceful swing of the blade, directed the crack that was getting wider and deeper with every yard, towards the Trinity Guards.

The ground beneath them crumbled and the Fey flames consumed now screaming in agony soldiers of Rome. Soon, the inhuman cries were silenced by the earth burying them in the rift created by the Fey Sword. They were no more. Wicklow was no more.

“Lancelot, that’s enough!” Merlin pleaded with him but he didn’t want to hear it. He needed to rage, he needed to kill.

“No,” was all he said before turning his attention to the Red Paladin army. He wanted them gone.

He moved towards the thousands of terrified monks, gathering all the rage he had in him and willing it into the sword. The green flames shot up from the blade giving it an appearance of a long whip.

He felt dark joy, seeing their petrified faces, seeing them dropping to their knees in prayer.

Lancelot cracked the fiery whip, sending the flames hurling towards the enemy, razing everything in its way, killing dozens.

He stroke again... but, as the flames were almost reaching another group of Red Paladins, a familiar wall of vines rose from the ground, blocking the fire and going up with flames.

Dumbfounded, he looked to his left and saw his beloved girl running towards him.

 _No, this must be a trick!_ She couldn’t be real! There was still a void where her scent usually resided in the very core of his being.

This… _creature_ had to be conjured by Merlin to stop him!

Asher quickly turned towards the approaching demon and aimed his weapon at it. But before he could do anything, he felt the vines wrapping around him tightly, immobilising him momentarily.

 _Nice try_ , he sneered and let his fire turn the vines into ash. He heard a crackling of a thunderbolt, a sure sign Merlin was getting ready to strike again, and glanced toward the sorcerer.

Suddenly, he felt cool hands on his cheeks and rapidly turned back to the demon…

…demon with indigo eyes, looking at his with endless love.

…demon with rosy lips adorned with the softest of smiles.

“Nimue?” he let out a barely audible whisper just in case if even the faintest of sounds could startle this vision and make it disappear.

“Yes, my love, it’s me,” Nimue took his hand and kiss its knuckles lovingly, “Come back to me.”

All of a sudden, he couldn't see anything, just flashes of bright light. He dropped to his knees.

_FLASH! All sound got sucked out. At once, he felt a freezing blast of icy snow on his face. He covered it with his hands, trying to protect himself from the sharp particles._

_FLASH! He was surrounded by complete darkness, filled with the sound of his breath… and somebody else’s. He felt at peace._

_FLASH! Green flames razed a cocoon he was trapped in, and spat him out into a blinding brightness._

_FLASH! He saw a boat emerging from the fog, carrying two people. She was in tears. He was lying down, motionless, a crown resting on his chest._

_FLASH! He saw two children laughing and running around the Fire Tree. The younger of them, a girl, stopped and ran up to him, taking his hand,_ “Don’t give up… No matter what they say, don’t ever give up…”

_FLASH! Everything went black._


	24. The Way Home

[ ](https://sta.sh/0kq0alhlnu4)

The moon was drowning the valley in its silver beams when Nimue made her way to the area designated to be an infirmary.

All the wounded were being taken care of by the Ure Abbey monks which had come as a surprise to the Fey. The dead were either buried in the newly-created graveyard or cremated on ceremonial pyres.

The victors of the battle were resting around the fires, quietly drinking cider as nobody had fully gotten out of the shock after Lancelot’s magnificent display of power.

The best proof of the impact he had on everyone was the Red Paladins and Cumber’s Vikings who had surrendered unconditionally to Pendragon’s soldiers and without protest had been taken back to their camp where they were kept under guard until their fate would be decided.

Nimue understood that - she also was still processing the morning events. She couldn’t stop thinking about the majestic, yet terrifying new Fey form their Ash King had taken. How was it even possible? According to Merlin, even he wouldn’t be able to conjure such powerful magic!

The answers would have to wait until Lancelot was awake from the bizarre state he had fallen into right after he collapsed after his vision.

He wasn’t asleep. He was… _absent_ , sitting cross-legged against the same lone tree at the verge of the valley where she had watched his _magic duel_ with Merlin from. His eyes were closed, his hands resting on his knees, and his breathing almost ceased.

Her father was with him so she could leave to see whether she could help with the many injuries their and the enemy’s fighter had suffered.

“How is she?” she put her hand on Arthur’s shoulder and sat down next to unconscious Red Spear.

“Not good,” his voice shook a little, “Not good at all,” he let out a sob and covered his face with his hands.

Nimue hugged him tightly and said, “Let me see if I can do anything for her.”

She kissed his cheek and put her hands around the gash on the gravely-wounded woman’s chest.

She reached out to the Hidden but only deafening silence answered her. There were no whispers, no tingling, no sign of Them even being present. There was only a cold void where the voices usually lived in the back of her mind.

What was happening?! She’d never felt so… empty.

“I’m sorry, Arthur, I cannot feel them around me,” she whispered sadly and rested her head on the man’s shoulder. He hung his head in resignation. Quiet sobs were racking his body as she was gently rubbing circles on his back.

Nimue’s heart was breaking seeing her dear Arthur in so much pain. She didn’t even want to imagine what she’d do if it was Lancelot’s life at stake.

Then, it stroke her… Lancelot…

She didn’t feel that way when she was around him… Was it possible he, somehow, kept the Hidden’s focus solely on him, preventing her from communing with the Fey gods?

An idea was born.

“Arthur,” she sprang up off the ground and started pacing back and forth.

“What is it, Nimue?” he asked quietly, his gaze not steering away from Red Spear even for a moment.

“We need to take her to Lancelot… he can help,” she said excitedly.

“Isn’t he… in a blackout of sorts?” Arthur frowned, gently taking the Viking’s hand into his and rubbing it with his thumb.

“Yes… but I cannot access the Hidden and he seems not to have any problems with it,” she looked at him pleadingly.

“I guess it’s worth a try,” he attempted to smile, unsuccessfully.

She remembered the fiery green wings and the power they carried. Yes, that could be the answer

“You know what? Let’s gather all the injured over there,” she pointed at Abbey’s orchard nearby. She looked around, searching for the inseparable Gawain and Galehaut who could help her carry Lancelot if needed, “I’ll fetch him,” the Queen said and left at once.

* * *

For the first time in his life, Merlin felt his age weighing on him. He was tired. A lot had happened in recent months. And the morning events just added to the overall fatigue, making him want to go back to his tower in Uther’s castle, and stay there next the couple of hundred years, away from everyone and everything.

He looked at the motionless young man sitting next to him and sighed, resting his back against the tree and closing his eyes.

“Merlin…” Lancelot’s quiet voice roused the sorcerer. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been napping for but it couldn’t be that long since the moon hadn’t travelled far in the sky.

“It’s good to have you back, Lancelot,” the older man smiled and squeezed Asher’s shoulder in a fatherly fashion.

He knew Lancelot would need some time to adjust and to digest all that had happened so he was glad Nimue had chosen this remote tree where they wouldn’t be bothered.

They were facing away from everyone, listening to the sounds of the river’s shallow water flowing lazily.

“I’m sorry for what I did to you,” the younger man’s eyes were sad and filled with shame when he turned to look at him, “I… I didn’t… I didn’t have any control over what was happening,” he hung his head, his fingers were picking at loose threads in the borrowed green tunic that was slightly too small for him.

“It’s fine, son. I am neither angry nor afraid of you,” Merlin smiled, knowing it was true.

In fact, he was in awe of the Ash King and there was so much he wanted to know about the Hidden’s power the Monk possessed.

“Did I…” the man hesitated and chewed on his lip, “…Did I hurt many?” he asked with a shaky voice.

“All the Trinity Guards are gone, Wicklow included,” Merlin smirked, “You also wiped out quite a few Red Paladins before Nimue managed to stop you,” he looked at the man seriously, “But all of ours are accounted for and fine… except for some burns and bruises.”

Lancelot visibly relaxed at the news but then he shook his head and looked into the inky sky, “How will I ever be able to look them in the eye, Merlin? They must be terrified of me now.”

“Well, you’re the King so it’s good that your people fear you a little, isn’t it?” the sorcerer’s attempt at a joke fell flat so he continued in a serious voice, “Listen, my boy. Even if they’re fearful of you now, they won’t forget you’ve saved the Fey and others… multiple times at this point,” he raised his hand, seeing the Ash man trying to protest, “I know that’s not how you’ve imagined helping your people would look like… but that’s how it happened. You saved us all! And, for which I forever will be grateful and in debt to you, you saved my daughter!” he looked meaningfully at the King who frowned, confused.

“I saved Nimue? How so?”

“Before you two met, the Sword of Power was corrupting her. Turning her into a power-hungry creature,” the man said sadly and sighed, “I know how it feels because the very same Sword had done the same to me many centuries ago,” Merlin looked into the Ash man’s eyes, “It is almost impossible to resist Excalibur’s temptation… and Nimue wouldn’t be able to if you hadn’t shown up.”

Lancelot seemed unable to understand the meaning of it all.

Merlin, seeing his confusion, continued, “See, when we met, I had a suspicion but the idea seemed too grand, too unbelievable…”

“Why? It did turn out I’m the Fire Bearer after all…”

“Not that, my boy. That was obvious from the moment I was your markings,” Merlin waved his hand dismissively.

“What grand idea you’re talking about then?” Lancelot was confused.

The sorcerer thought for a moment and said, “Nimue has an incredibly strong connection to the Hidden. That connection, however, can be used both ways which means that, through the Sword, the Hidden could manipulate my daughter and she wouldn’t even know about it. The last time I’d seen her before leaving Gramaire, she’d been struggling to keep it together,” he took a deep breath, “And then you carried the Sword, unknowingly, for her…”

“Why wasn’t I corrupted then? Was it because I hadn’t spent enough time with the sword?”

“I thought that too… but then Nimue got it back…and she was fine, even after using it to call to the Hidden the day Squirrel got injured,” Merlin chuckled in wonder, “That got me thinking about my initial suspicions again,” Merlin turned towards the young man and put his hands on his shoulders, looking deep into his eyes.

“Think about it, Lancelot. You saw the Fey Fire the day your parents died, the day you got your markings… All despite the Fey magic being absent in your land. And you’ve been hearing the whispers all your life…again, despite the magic not being present,” he shook his head as if reading Lancelot’s mind, “And no, you were not mad or demon-possessed like your so-called _fathers_ had told you.”

“What are you getting at, Merlin?” Asher was frowning, still not understanding.

“Lancelot... You could experience all that because, even in this magic-stripped Gallia, you were carrying the very magic in you… and so was your mother.”

“But how…?”

“As I said, Nimue has a strong connection to the Hidden and can easily commune with them… but you are _of_ the Hidden,” the sorcerer paused to let that piece of knowledge sink in, “You were born of the magic and that’s why you had full control of Excalibur which recognised you… like it could finally stop looking, stop trying to test its bearer, in this case – Nimue,” he smiled at the Ash man and finished, “That’s how important and powerful you are, son. And that is how you saved my daughter.”

A quiet gasp came from behind the tree. Merlin got up to confront whoever was eavesdropping and was met with Nimue, Mabuz, Bors, Gawain, and Galehaut. Judging by the stunned look on their faces, they had heard everything.

Lancelot approached the group cautiously, his eyes fixed on the ground. Nimue hurried past her father and ran into Lancelot’s arms. She peppered his face, neck, and hands with kisses, whispering quiet words of love.

The young man seemed so overwhelmed by this, he stood motionlessly, smiling at her sweetly with his eyes burning with such love, others had to turn away, feeling they were interrupting a very intimate moment.

“We’ll talk later, my love,” Asher said when the young couple detangled themselves from each other’s arms.

“We will,” Nimue agreed, “But now, we need your help with the injured. I’m not able to connect to the Hidden for some reason,” she whispered and took his hand into hers, looking at his pleadingly and explained what needed to be done.

“Do you think anybody will still want me around them?” he sounded sad and uncertain.

“What are you talking about, boy!?” Mabuz scoffed him, “You proved to the Humans that the Fey won’t lie down and take the beating,” she smirked, “Additionally, you scared the living daylight out of the Church’s dogs so they'll think twice before attacking us again.”

“And as for the Fey,” Gawain interjected, “You’re our Protector and because of the…” he waved his hands, looking for right words,”…the wings and all the Fire thing you had going… you gained a god-like status, my brother,” he chuckled, “And from we’ve just heard, it isn’t far from the truth, is it?” he finished with a friendly slap on Asher’s back.

Merlin watched that exchange with relief. If the leaders accepted Lancelot for who, for what he was, the rest would surely follow.

“Shall we go then?” Galehaut chimed in and wrapped his arm around Lancelot’s shoulders, “Nimue says you can heal with your magic and I’ve got to admit if she said it yesterday, I would call her mad… just as I thought Geraint was mad when he said you’d brought his son back from the brink of death… But after today, I could probably believe anything,” he smiled.

“You do have a tendency to think of people as mad, my friend. Let’s not forget you thought I was insane as a kid when I was telling you the stories about fairies living in the Forest,” Lancelot sent his friend a lopsided smile.

“You’ll never let him forget this, will you, cousin?” Bors snickered at the knight who punched him in the arm.

“Never,” Asher laughed as the men moved towards the infirmary.

Merlin smiled, content that the aura of bashfulness previously surrounding the Ash man, was gone now.

“Come, father. We need to hurry,” Nimue smiled at him kindly, her eyes shining with joy. He hugged her and they followed the group.

* * *

Nimue was aware of the gravity of their task ahead. She kept thinking about Red Spear and a hundred other seriously injured people waiting for their help. She believed they could help them and she discussed the plan with Merlin as they were moving towards the orchard.

At the same time, she was delighted to see Lancelot so care-free, even if it was just a fleeting moment and the serious man would be back before they reached their destination.

She was thankful to his friends for supporting him and grateful to her father for caring for the young King. The men’s bond had grown and evolved into a father-son-like relationship. It was heartwarming, especially because Asher’s life had lacked _healthy_ father figures he could look up to and seek advice from.

 _Well, Merlin may not be the healthiest of role models but he will have to do_ , Nimue smirked and looked at her father walking beside her, deep in his thoughts.

The Queen knew she should ask about the conversation she accidentally overheard. The revelation of Lancelot being some sort of demi-god was unbelievable, to say the least! However, she wanted her Ash man to come to her to talk about it when he was ready.

They were approaching the orchard when Nimue ran up to Lancelot and took his hand, seeing Humnas and Fey lining up to watch the Ash King coming in complete silence . The fear and awe and curiosity were written on all their faces.

He was tense and looked at the ground, clearly uncomfortable without his trusty hood on.

She squeezed his hand gently and said, “Don’t mind them, my love. We all just need a bit of time to work through what happened today.”

Lancelot took a deep breath and nodded, saying, “Let’s do it.”

* * *

The news of the Ash King coming to help heal their people had to spread quickly because the area of the orchard where the wounded were placed, was tightly surrounded by the audience, hungry for more Fey magic.

Merlin shook his head at that and joined Bernard, Mabuz, and Geraint. Together, they watched the young couple taking their standing positions – Lancelot, at an old gnarly apple tree, and Nimue, on the opposite end of the group of the gravely wounded fighters.

They were both looking at each other for a long time and eventually, Nimue took her sword out, rested its tip on the ground, and closed her eyes in such a familiar way, the sorcerer had to smile.

He could feel an invisible current of energy flowing from Lancelot towards his daughter. The young man was sharing his magic with Nimue.

Why she couldn’t feel it, was a mystery to Merlin who frowned and leaned against his staff, closing his eyes and focusing on his own connection to the Hidden. He could feel it… but only faintly. It was much weaker than when… he was close to Lancelot! Why was he harbouring all the magic? Was it the Hidden’s doing?

His eyes snapped open and he looked at Mabuz who was already staring at him intently. The man nodded to Merlin’s silent question. They would talk later.

Meanwhile, the runes on the Sword started glowing and the Airmid’s fingers appeared on Nimue’s cheeks. The vines started coming up from the ground, twisting and tangling all around their _patients,_ gently wrapping their bodies as they slithered towards Asher.

The sorcerer heard soft gasps nearby and smiled kindly at a group of young monks, staring in awe, with their hands clasped in prayer.

Once the vines reached Lancelot, he sat down on the ground, allowing the shoots to wrap around his arms. His one hand was placed on the tree trunk and the other one - on Red Spear’s heart.

While his skin was slowly donning the colours and textures of the surrounding greenery, the tree went up in green flames. At the same time as the flowers and young leaves were being incinerated on the branches, brand new leaves were sprouting from the vines. The air was filled with floating green specs – glowing remains of burnt leaves that looked like millions of fireflies hovering amongst the trees.

The whole area turned into one luminous living organism, pulsating with green light within as if breathing.

The Fey Queen and the Ash King opened their eyes and lovingly locked their gaze onto each other.

It was their joining.

It was breathtaking.

The sounds of the stream’s water flowing and buzzing of night insects were only amplifying the complete silence that was reigning over the valley at this moment.

Merlin felt tears streaming down his cheeks when he looked around the surrounding people, all ravished by the beauty of the scene, all afraid to move and disturb the moment.

After a long while, the pulsating light slowly faded away and the green embers fell to the ground.

As the fire in the tree branches was dying down, the blossoms and the leaves reappeared on the charred stalks, while shriveling on the vines that turned into ash that got blown away by a sudden breeze.

And then, Red Spear ruined the magical moment, “Are you going to take your hand off my breast or do I need to cut it off, Monk?”

* * *

For the next couple of days, Lancelot kept to himself most of the time. His mind was in a weird hazy state, the ever-present whispers wouldn’t let him sleep. His sense of smell was heightened to a point he had to stay away from everyone as the combination of so many different scents was too overwhelming and made him nauseous.

He wasn’t sure why this was happening but he was leaving trails of blossoms, flowers, and new growth behind wherever his bare skin touched any living surfaces. On top of that, he had some wild animals and insects orbiting him at all times. And that was unsettling.

Humans were gawking, the monks were praying, Fey elders were making fun of him.

“If I didn’t know you, I’d think you’re an incarnation of goddess Áine,” Bernard said jokingly but one look at Mabuz staring at him blankly left Lancelot uncertain.

He didn’t know who _Áine_ was but he surely couldn’t be so many things at once! Could he?

Whatever was happening, he wanted it to stop.

Whatever was to happen, he felt an odd need to meet Abbot Witton. He needed to know how different his life could be if someone like Witton had been his guardian… if someone like Father Carden hadn’t gotten his claws into him.

On the third day, after finally getting clothes that fitted him, Lancelot wandered quietly into the great hall where the monks were finishing their breakfast after the morning prayer.

Asher was glad the beautiful buildings of the Abbey hadn’t been ruined during his _outburst_ … well, with an exception of the bell tower and some outer buildings which were unsalvageable. There were some cracks in the walls here and there but nothing damaging to the integrity of the structures.

He cleared his throat to announce his arrival and immediately regretted it when every single face turned towards him. Dropped spoons and knives clanked off the tables, audible gasps and rattling of hastily clutched rosaries filled now eerily silent room.

He stood in the centre, by the door and looked to Abbot Witton for help. The elderly monk sprung up from his table and jovially said, “Your Highness, what an honour! Please, let us share our humble meal with you!” he rounded the table and hurried towards the Ash man.

When the man reached for his arm, Lancelot winced and cowered away. He couldn’t help it but the old fear and trauma were still there, hidden deep inside. That made him feel weary of the monk, despite being aware that the cleric was a friendly and gentle person.

Witton seemed to understand because his face had a sorrowful expression when he said, “Do not fear me, my son. I know you don’t have much reason to trust any man of the cloth… but I promise you, you are safe here and won’t be mistreated in any way,” he smiled kindly and made a gesture inviting Asher to join them at his table.

Lancelot relaxed a little and followed. He could feel all the eyes on him. He could hear whispers. He could sense the fear mixed with curiosity. But there was no hostility or contempt.

That morning, the openness and kindness he was treated with by the monks, proved to him that there was nothing wrong with him. That he was not an abomination in the eyes of God. That it was Father Carden and his Red Paladins who were unworthy of the crosses they carried.

He felt relieved. He no longer felt the guilt that had been with him ever since he had joined the Red Paladin ranks. The guilt of not believing in the god of the Christians.

He was Fey. He was Fire Bearer. He was off the Hidden.

He was enough.

Later that day, as per Lancelot’s request, Abbot Witton and several of his monks joined the Ash King, Galehaut, Red Spear and their people when they went back to Aysgarth Falls to take care of the bodies of the fallen warriors left behind during the skirmish with the Lepers.

The Christian Gennewisians were cremated in a holy ceremony so their ashes could be taken back home. The Vikings got their sent off on the blazing rafts floating down the river. The Fey were buried in the woodland to become one with nature yet again.

On the fourth day after the battle, a decision was made by the Fey Council.

Nimue – the Queen of the Fey, made her way to the top of the steps leading to Abbey’s entrance, and announced to the people gathered around, “We won the battle that was necessary to demonstrated Rome’s Pope that we are not afraid, that we have means to defend ourselves, and that we still have allies amongst Humans,” cheering erupted at that and she raised her hand to silence the triumphant crowd, “But sadly, we cannot trust that they won’t come for us again and again, until we’re no more,” it was met with resounding silence.

She was quiet for few moments and then said with grief in her voice, “It is time for the Fey Folk to leave this world to Humans. In the new era of the Chrisitan god, we are not welcome here anymore and we cannot hope that all clergy will be as kind-hearted as the Ure Abbey monks are,” she bowed her head respectfully to Abbot who smiled at her sadly.

“Therefore, the Fey will leave for Avalon where we can thrive, unbothered,” she choked up and couldn’t utter a word so Lancelot rushed to her, put his arm around her shoulders, pressing her to his side, and raised his hand to silence the surprised murmurs, coming mainly from Humans who like so many before, were shocked to learn about Avalon being real.

“You may stay here if you choose so but you will be on your own. Of course, you will be always welcome in Avalon as all Fey have full right to come and go as we please… but you’ll have to undertake that journey by yourselves,” he said, looking at the somber faces, “We will leave the day after tomorrow. The Fey who arrived from Gallia will go first. The ships will be back for the rest within a fortnight so you have time to gather your belongings. The messages will be sent to whatever Fey are left in Britannia so they also have time to prepare. Now, let's prepare for our departure,” he finished and when the crowd started dispersing, he turned to Nimue who was looking at him with gratitude filling her teary eyes.

“You’re shit at speeches,” she said with a watery smile and put her hand on his chest.

“So are you,” he grinned at her and wrapped his arms around her, tucking her head under his chin and enjoying the warmth of her body.

When they get to Avalon, he would whisk her away and keep her for himself for as long as he could before having to go back to their duties.

The Allied Council gathered and made further decisions, this time encompassing both the Humans and the Fey.

The Allied Army was to be dissolved right after they’d see Red Paladins returning to the south the next day, carrying a peace offering from King Uther to the Pope.

The Eireann Celts and the Picts were to leave soon after. Gawain, Kaze, Bors, and some of the Fey were to join the Northerners as they needed to take the Gennewisian ship, along with their horses – Goliath included, back to their new home.

Pendragon would leave with the Fey and the Gennewisians.

As for Cumber who was currently residing in one of Abbey’s cells, he was to either rot in Pendragon’s dungeons or leave for the Desert Kingdoms and never return. His Vikings were also given a choice - join Red Spear’s army or join Cumber in exile.

Red Spear, initially, was furious with everyone for letting the Ice King keep his head. Arthur reminded her that now, she owned everything Cumber had, and that seemed to placate the Viking a little.

Arthur was so happy to have her alive, he kept grinning while she was grumbling about her right for blood revenge, just to shush her with a kiss when she riled herself up again.

The next evening, after a day of preparations to leave, the elders and leaders sat by a fire. For the first time, everyone seemed to be joyous and hopeful.

They shared memorable stories while drinking wine from Abbey’s cellar.

Bernard and Geraint talked about how they build their shared _Castle Astolat_. It involved a lot of _ghost haunting_ of local Humans to make sure they’d stay away.

Mordred talked about the very first time he climbed over the Hadrian’s Wall to see how different his Scotia was from Cumbria. To the youngster’s disappointment, it wasn’t much different.

And then, Mabuz talked about how he got to Britannia from Gallia in the first place.

“…We left shortly before the Fey Fire was stolen from the land,” he glanced quickly at Merlin, “I didn’t get along with my mother after Iweret had invaded and stolen away the Beforet Forest from me. She wanted me to come live in the Gennewisian Enchanted Forest and guard the Glade. Maybe she suspected something was going to happen… Maybe if I had stayed, the Fire would be safe.”

“You’re not telling me that…” Merlin seemed stunned by the news.

“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m telling you… Emrys,” Mabuz grinned for the first time since they had met, “I even visited _your_ tree as a boy.”

“I am confused,” Nimue murmured and looked at equally bemused Kaze and Red Spear.

The Stormer looked at her curiously, “I’ve never asked but how did you manage to convince my mother to give up her reign over Avalon, my lady?”

“Lady Viviane is your mother?!” the young Queen was left agape, staring at the man in disbelieve. Lancelot also was so astonished, he let out an incredulous chuckle.

“Yep,” Mabuz sent them a lopsided smile.

“Huh… She never mentioned you,” Nimue said once she snapped out of the shock.

“She mentioned you though,” the man smirked and then chuckled seeing everyone’s stunned reaction to his words, “I knew you were coming to Britannia long before you showed up at the Falls, folks.”

“How did you know? Were you exchanging messages with Lady Vivianne all that time?” Lancelot asked suspiciously.

“Nah, they weren’t exchanging anything. Were you, Mabuz?” Merlin chortled and took a swig of wine.

When the man didn’t answer immediately, Red Spear huffed and threw her arms up, “Whenever you’re ready, old man.”

The _old man_ snickered and said, “You are right, Merlin. I knew all about it because I had visited my mother during Beltaine.”

“How?” Red Spears leaned forward, her eyes shining with excitement.

 _Here it is, the same little girl from the Glade, hungry for fantastical stories,_ Lancelot smiled kindly.

“Through _Tír fo Thuinn_ Gateway on the moors,” he nodded towards the mountains.

“A gateway?” Gawain frowned, “To Avalon?”

“Yes,” the older agreed and turned to Nimue, “I meant to tell you about it but… well, there was no opportunity.”

“How often do you go to Avalon?” Lancelot asked, narrowing his eyes, “How does it work?”

“I’m no expert – I just walk through one door and leave through another, on Avalon,” Mabuz shrugged.

“Nonsense,” Asher scoffed, “You know exactly how it works… but nevermind,” he shook his head, “How often?”

“Whenever I need to restock our supplies, which is twice a year or so.”

“Why do you need to get your _supplies_ on Avalon when you have this land to feed of?” Red Spear raised her eyebrows.

“Apples,” Lancelot said quietly, not letting his eyes leave Mabuz.

“What?” the Viking sounded confused.

“Avalonian apples…?” he finally looked at the woman pointedly, trying to make her remember.

“You mean…” she looked around like she was about to reveal a secret, “… the life-giving apples?” she whispered theatrically, leaning forwards towards Lancelot so far that she nearly fell off the log she was sitting on.

“Yes, girl,” Mabuz looked amused and continued with the same theatrical whisper, “The very life- _prolonging_ apples that kept me alive for just over four hundred years,” he winked at her with a mischievous smile.

“Huh… I could use some,” Bernard stretched the skin on his face and laughed jovially.

“You will, my friend. Soon,” the Stormer clapped his old friend on the back, “Unfortunately, only the Fey can go through the gateway,” he looked apologetically at disappointed Red Spear, “You, dear _Ice Queen_ , need to travel more conventionally… I’m sorry, my child,” he seemed truly sad she couldn’t go with them as she was the only one out of the entire group who was genuinely excited and impressed.

“Wow, I didn’t expect virtually no reaction to the news of the gateway and Avalonian apples,” Geraint looked around the people by the fire and clicked his tongue.

“It’s really hard to get impressed anymore,” Mordred took a swig of wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “If you told us that before this guy’s _little_ performance,” he pointed at Lancelot with his chin, “we would be gobsmacked, I promise you, Mabuz,” he smirked at the man, “Looks like Lancelot stole all the magic… of magic.”

At that, everybody laughed and resumed the light-hearted chatter.

Lancelot took Nimue’s hand and they discreetly sneaked away into the darkness towards their tent set up by the river.

“I can’t believe we’ll be home tomorrow,” Nimue whispered contently, flushed and sweaty, with a blanket tangled around her feet, and the hair splayed around her like a halo.

If Lancelot could keep only one image in his memory for the rest of his life, it would be this. For many reasons.

Because she was breathtakingly beautiful. Because she was so sweet in this half-asleep state. Because she was gloriously shameless in her nudity. Because he knew what kind of power hid under all those mouthwatering soft curves. And admittedly, because his ego was well-fed, seeing her so satisfied mere minutes after she was moaning his name into his sweaty neck.

He treasured those quiet moments when after love-making, they were simply looking at each other with their hands clasped until they fell asleep to the rhythm of their breathing.

“I already am,” he murmured, feeling the sleep taking over.

“How so?” she breathed out, with a soft smile.

“You’re my home,” he whispered and allowed his eyes to close, drifting off to sleep.

* * *

“Is that it?” Merlin scratched his head in disbelief, looking at a wonky little stone cottage surrounded few fruit trees. It had one dilapidated front and one back door, and only one window above the entrance. The slate roof was had some heather growing out of it. The nearby apple tree had one of the branches growing into the cottage, through the window, “Wow. That’s… really unimpressive.”

“Did you expected a bloody castle, magician?” Mabuz scoffed him, smacked him in the back, and moved forward. The sorcerer rolled his eyes and followed.

He wasn’t planning on going to Avalon just yet. He wanted to stay with Uther for some time and see the new situation the King, Arthur, and Red Spear found themselves in.

Besides, the king asked him to come to the peace talks with Rome he hoped would happen. Merlin wasn’t so certain they would take place at all.

 _Sir_ Arthur was to stay in Pendragon Castle and help to train Uther’s soldiers, as he had some ideas on how to improve the king’s army. Pendragon eagerly agreed.

Red Spear was to travel back to the Ice Kingdom to sort out Cumber’s affairs. Arthur wasn’t happy about it but she promised she’d be back in autumn.

The new Viking queen was devastated she hadn’t seen Avalon after all but Nimue invited her and Arthur for Samhein’s winter celebrations.

Bernard and Geraint were to gather their people and meet Mabuz at the _Tír fo Thuinn_ Gateway in several days.

Mordred had gone back to Scotia and was to return to Pendragon Castle to help Arthur once his people were safe on the other side of the Hadrian’s Wall.

The two men had become good friends, to Merlin’s surprise. He still didn’t trust Mordred but since everyone else seemed to hold the man in high regard, he didn’t protest. But he would keep an eye on the Scot.

Nimue and Lancelot were waiting alongside Merlin for their people to follow Mabuz into the cottage. They were to be the last to go through the gateway.

 _What a weirdly quiet and unceremonious way to end all this_ , Merlin chuckled to himself. No grand speeches, no festivities, no dramatic exits.

He figured it was because now, after learning about the Gateway, it wasn’t final anymore, it wasn’t a one-way trip. The magic folk could return whenever they wished to visit old Britannia.

* * *

Mordred always thought of the Fey as a cult-like group, nothing more. He had never even imagined he would see and experience the real and raw Hidden’s magic.

To say he was in awe of Lancelot du Lac, would be an understatement. That serious, restraint and quiet man was a leader worth following and the Scot had grown to truly like, respect, and admire him.

As for the Fey Queen, she was a powerful sorceress and a beautiful woman who was still clearly learning but already commanded the respect of her people.

All in all, Mordred would gladly follow the young couple… if he way Fey.

Instead, he’d join Arthur and hopefully, one day, he’d earn a knighthood and bring back honour and respect his family had once had.

He took his position between the trees where he had an unobstructed view of the people gathering around the cottage, and prepared.

He couldn’t mess this one up. It was bad enough he didn’t get the Sword of Power but how could he know that Nimue wouldn’t have it with her when he’d knocked her out? The Sword and the Witch were inseparable after all!

The arrow he took out of his quiver, was dipped in something Rugen hadn’t been willing to reveal. _Probably some dark magic shit_ , Mordred looked at the tip in disgust.

He drew the arrow and the bowstring, and aimed.

“It’s just a business. I’m sorry,” he let his fingers release the arrow.


End file.
